And how
the brakeman's eyes filled up with tears at being loved, and how Mr.
Gosport had to hurry back to his Pullman in order not to go to
pieces himself.
When Mr. Gosport told this tale--it was one he used in his lectures,
and it always went splendidly--Joy usually had to keep herself from
wondering why he didn't go to pieces anyhow; he was so long and
loosely built you'd think he was merely pinned together. But this
afternoon she smiled at him so brightly that he liked the way he
told the story better than ever. She was really thinking--
"The man she called Jack is built ever so much better than Mr.
Gosport is. _He_ wouldn't just cry over a brakeman. He'd give
him some money or...."
"It is very wonderful to feel that we are all brothers, and that so
little a thing as bringing it home to a train-hand could move him so
profoundly," finished Mr. Gosport, cheered by the success of his
anecdote. "I make it a point never to neglect such little things--"
He was left with a period in mid-air, for Joy, with a flurry of
skirts, was running toward her grandfather. She didn't care a bit
whether men were all brothers or second cousins; she thought maybe
Grandfather would know the real name of the man she had talked to,
the one besides Jack.
"Grandfather, what was the name of the man with curly, fair hair and
big gray eyes, the one who had a little old lady with him?" she
demanded breathlessly, clinging to her grandfather's arm and
interrupting him ruthlessly in the middle of something he was saying
to somebody.
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