And Bunty, from the depths of the blanket they had wrapped around him, called back, "Good-by, sir!"
When Bunty was propped up in bed, his father told him how the express messenger had stopped the train and carried him back into the Pullmans.
Bunty listened gravely. "Yes," he said, nodding his head; "they was awful good to me, and the man that tooked me off the train told me stories, and then I told him some, too."
"What did you tell him?" Regan asked.
"Oh, 'bout trains and shops and presidents and directors and—and lots of things."
"Presidents and directors!" said Regan, in surprise. "What did you tell him about them?"
"I told him what you said—that they was fools, and you knew, 'cause you'd seen them."
Regan whistled softly.
"And," continued Bunty, "he laughed, and when I asked him what he was laughing at, he gived me a piece of paper and told me to give it to you, and you'd tell me."
Regan groaned. "Guess it's my time all right," he muttered. "Where's the paper, Bunty?"
"He putted it in my pocket."
Regan drew the chair with Bunty's clothing on it toward him, and began a hurried search. He fished out a narrow slip of paper and unfolded it on his knee. It was a check for one thousand dollars payable to Master Bunty Regan, and signed by the President of the road.
