produce it.

"Go ahead," demanded the conductor firmly, "I don't want to push you
off, but if you don't step down and out right away, I'll have it to do."

The woman's expression changed from defiance to terror. She clung to the
brake with both hands and looked at him fearfully.

"No, no, don't touch me!" she cried. "Don't make me get off! I've got to
get to Cincinnati. My man's there. He's been hurt in the foundry.
He's--maybe he's dying now."

"I can't help that, maybe it's so and maybe it ain't. You never had any
money when you got on this train and you know it. Go on, step off!"

"But I did!" she cried wildly; "I did. Oh, God! don't put me off."

The train began to move, and the conductor seized the woman's arms from
behind and forced her forward. A moment more and she would be pushed off
the lowest step. She turned beseeching eyes on the little group of
spectators, and as she did so Phelan Harrihan sprang forward and with
his hand on the railing, ran along with the slow-moving train.

With a deft movement he bent forward and apparently snatched something
from the folds of her skirt.

"Get on to your luck now," he said with an encouraging smile that played
havoc with the position of his features; "if here ain't your pocket-book
all the time!"