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There was something very invigorating in this form of travel, something of the stolen fruits thrill. I take it that that thrill never utterly fails, for my companions, though old hands at the game, as I was to hear, had a light on their faces, an air of glee, though it was more clear with Slim than with Hank. There was a lurking dourness in Hank.

Slim, of course, must needs, sitting down then, roll a cigarette.

"Here," said Hank, "you might cut that out till we make a few miles anyhow. It isn't so darn simple every time, getting on, as it was that time, and what I say is, when luck is with one there's no sense in queering it." He turned to me. "If a brakeman were to go over the roof," he explained, "not smoking himself, he'd smell us, you know."

Slim laughed and lit his cigarette.

"There you are!" ejaculated Hank. "No will power! Got to be sucking away on a pimp stick all the time. Cig-fiend! Abuse the blessings!" He waved a hand. "It's not just yourself. You might have the three of us ditched, and all to do over again because you can't keep off tobacco for a quarter of an hour."