The muffled voice under the quilts waxed louder and more angry as
the seconds passed. Phil, who had gone to the wash room to make
his toilet, hurried back at sound of the row.
"Teddy Tucker, what are you doing?" demanded Phil, for the moment
puzzled at the scene before him.
"I'm sitting on the Boss," answered Teddy triumphantly. "Shall I
give him one for you?"
"Yes--give him two for each of us," shouted the billposters.
Phil strode to his companion, grabbed the lad by the collar
of his pajamas and jerked him from the helpless man under
the quilts.
"Now, you behave yourself, young man, or you will have to reckon
with me," he commanded, pushing Teddy aside.
"You let me alone. This is my inning. I guess I can sit on the
Boss, if I want to, without your interfering with the fun."
Giving no heed to the words, Phil quickly hauled the quilts off
and assisted Mr. Snowden to rise.
"I guess Teddy must have fallen on you, sir," suggested
Phil solemnly.
"He did it on purpose! He did it on purpose!"
"You pulled him out of bed, did you not, sir?"
"Yes; and next time I'll pull him so he'll know it. Get out of
here, every man of you, and get your breakfasts; then get off on
your routes. Things are coming to a fine pass on this car.
Young man, I will talk to you later.
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