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“Do you?” Arnold asked, pushing by to his seat.

“Yes, I know four or five ways. Guess I’ll ask him.”

He left the others and walked back three seats to where the boy was hunched somewhat disconsolately beside an open window. He was a surprisingly unattractive chap, Toby thought, but maybe he couldn’t help that unwholesome white complexion. But he could help, Toby told himself a moment later, that very soiled collar he was wearing!

“Nose-bleed?” asked Toby smilingly.

The boy shook his head, looking up over the stained handkerchief with an expression of sullen suspicion in his staring brown eyes.

“What’s the trouble then?” Toby took the vacant seat. “Let me have a look, won’t you?”

After a second of hesitation the boy removed the handkerchief, revealing a short but deep cut on his upper lip. It was bleeding profusely. Toby clucked sympathetically. “How’d you get it?” he asked.

“I was getting a drink back there,” muttered the boy, “when the train stopped. It threw me against the arm of a seat, I guess. Anyway, first thing I knew I was on the floor.” His tone was resentful and his look seemed to hold Toby to blame for the accident.