"You had no right to flag the train, Sheriff Collins, and you'll
have to get off; that's all there is to it," the conductor was
explaining testily.
"Oh, that's all right," returned the offender with easy good
nature, making himself at home in Section 4. "Tell the company to
send in its bill. No use jawing about it."
"You'll have to get off, sir."
"That's right--at Tucson."
"No, sir. You'll have to get off here. I have no authority to let
you ride."
"Didn't I hear you say the train was late? Don't you think you'd
arrive earlier at the end of your run if your choo-choo got to
puffing?"
"You'll have to get off, sir."
"I hate to disoblige," murmured the owner of the jingling spurs,
the dusty corduroys, and the big, gray hat, putting his feet
leisurely on the cushion in front of him. "But doesn't it occur
to you that you are a man of one idea?"
"This is the Coast Limited. It doesn't stop for anybody--not even
for the president of the road."
"You don't say! Well, I ce'tainly appreciate the honor you did me
in stopping to take me on." His slight drawl was quite devoid of
concern.
"But you had no right to flag the train.
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