76CHAPTER IXTHE LIGHT OF HOME
Ralph walked home in the quiet night in a serious and thoughtful mood. His usually bright face was clouded and his head bent, as though his mind was greatly upset. As the light of home came into view, however, with a effort he cast aside all railroad and personal cares.
“Always the same dear, faithful mother,” he murmured gratefully, as he approached the cheerful looking cottage all alight down stairs, and hurried his steps to greet her waiting for him on the porch.
“Ralph,” she spoke anxiously, “you are not hurt?”
“Hurt!” cried Ralph, “not a bit of it. Why,” as he noticed his mother trembling all over, “what put that into your head?”
“The fear that what Zeph heard downtown at the roundhouse might be true,” replied Mrs. Fairbanks. “There was a rumor that there had been77a collision. Besides, I knew that some of your enemies were watching your movements.”
“You must stop worrying over these foolish notions,” said Ralph reassuringly. “We made a successful run, and as to the enemies, they generally get the worst of it. Men in the wrong always do.”
Ralph was glad to get back to his comfortable home. As he passed through the hallway he noticed Zeph Dallas, asleep on the couch. Ralph did not hail or disturb him. Young Dallas had been at work for the friends of Ralph who operated the Short Line Railroad up near Wilmer, but about two weeks previous to the present time had got tired of the dull route through the woods and had come to Stanley Junction. The young engineer had gotten him a job “subbing” as a helper on a yards switch engine. Zeph had been made welcome at the Fairbanks home, as were all friends of Ralph, by his devoted mother.
“You are the best mother and the best cook in the world,” declared Ralph, as he sat down at the table in the cozy little dining room, before a warm meal quickly brought from the kitchen. “Really, mother, you are simply spoiling me, and as to your sitting up for me this way and missing your sleep, it is a positive imposition on you.”78
His mother only smiled sweetly and proudly upon him. Then she asked:
“Was it a hard trip, Ralph?”
“In a way,” responded Ralph. “But what made it harder was some unpleasant developments entirely outside of railroad routine.”
“That so? It never rains but it pours!” proclaimed an intruder abruptly, and, awakened from his sleep by the sound of voices, Zeph Dallas came into the dining room yawning and stretching himself.
“Why!” exclaimed Ralph, giving the intruder a quick stare, “what have you ever been doing to yourself?”
“Me?” grinned Zeph—“you mean that black eye and that battered cheek?”
“Yes—accident?”
“No—incident,” corrected Zeph, with a chuckle. “A lively one, too, I can tell you.”
“Fell off the engine?”
“No, fell against a couple of good hard human fists. We had been sorting stray freights all the afternoon on old dinky 97, and had sided to let a passenger go by, when I noticed a man with a bag and a stick picking up coal along the tracks. Just then, a poor, ragged little fellow with a basket came around the end of the freight doing the same. The man thought he had a monopoly in79his line, because he was big. He jumped on the little fellow, kicked him, hit him with his stick, and—I was in the mix-up in just two seconds.”
“You should keep out of trouble, Zeph,” advised Mrs. Fairbanks, gently.
“How could I, ma’am, when that little midget was getting the worst of it?” demurred Zeph. “Well, I pitched into the big, overgrown bully, tooth and nail. I’m a sight, maybe. You ought to see him! He cut for it after a good sound drubbing, leaving his bag of coal behind him. I gave the little fellow all the loose change I had, filled his basket from the bag, and sent him home happy. When I got back to the engine, Griggs, the assistant master mechanic, was in the cab. He said a few sharp words about discipline and the rules of the road, and told me to get off the engine.”
“Discharged, eh?”
“And to stay off. I’m slated, sure. Don’t worry about it, Fairbanks; I’d got sick to death of the job, anyway.”
“But what are you going to do?” inquired Ralph gravely.
“Get another one, of course. I’m going to try to get Bob Adair, the road detective, to give me a show. That’s the line of work I like. If he won’t, I’ll try some other town. I’m sorry, Fairbanks,80for my wages will only settle what board I owe you, and there’s that last suit of clothes you got for me, not paid for yet––”
“Don’t trouble yourself about that, Zeph,” interrupted Ralph kindly. “You’re honest, and you’ll pay when you can. You may keep what money you have for a new start until you get to work again.”
Zeph looked grateful. Then Ralph gave some details of the record run to Bridgeport, there was some general conversation, and he went to bed.
Ralph had asked his mother to call him at nine o’clock in the morning, but an hour before that time there was a tap at the door of the bedroom.
“Ralph, dear,” spoke up his mother, “I dislike to disturb you, but a messenger boy has just brought a telegram, and I thought that maybe it was something of importance and might need immediate attention.”
“That’s right, mother. I will be down stairs in a minute,” answered the young railroader, and he dressed rapidly and hurried down to the sitting room, where his mother stood holding out to him a sealed yellow envelope. Ralph tore it open. He looked for a signature, but there was none. It was a night message dated at Bridgeport, the evening previous, and it ran:81
“Clark—Porter—whatever you know don’t speak of it, or great trouble may result. Will see you within two days.”
“I wonder what the next development will be?” murmured Ralph. “‘Great trouble may result.’ I don’t understand it at all. ‘Will see you in two days’—then there is some explanation coming. Clark, or whatever his real name is, must suspect or know that his cousin, Dave Bissell, has told me something. Well, I certainly won’t make any move about this strange affair until Clark has had an opportunity to straighten things out. In the meantime, I’ve got a good deal of personal business on my hands.”
Ralph was a good deal in doubt and anxious as to his railroad career, immediate and prospective. As has been told, his trip to Bridgeport had been a record run. The fact that the China & Japan Mail could be delivered on time, indicated a possibility that the Great Northern might make a feature of new train service. It would not, however, be done in a day. No. 999 might be put on the Dover branch of the Great Northern, or accomodation service to other points, and the Overland Express connection canceled.
There had been all kinds of speculation and gossip at the dog house as to the new system82of business expansion adopted by the Great Northern. That road had acquired new branches during the past year, and was becoming a big system of itself. There was talk about a consolidation with another line, which might enable the road to arrange for traffic clear to the Pacific. New splendid train service was talked of everywhere, among the workmen, and every ambitious railroader was looking for a handsome and substantial promotion.
Ralph could not tell until he reported at the roundhouse after twelve o’clock when and how he would start out again. On the Bridgeport run he was not due until the next morning. All he was sure of was that he and Fogg were regulars for No. 999 wherever that locomotive was assigned, until further orders interfered. Despite the successful record run to Bridgeport, somebody was listed for at least a “call-down” on account of the accident on the siding at Plympton. Every time Ralph thought of that, he recollected his “find” in Lemuel Fogg’s bunker, and his face became grave and distressed.
“It’s bound to come out,” he reflected, as he strolled into the neat, attractive garden after breakfast. “Why, Mr. Griscom—I’m glad to see you.”
His old railroad friend was passing the house83on his way to the roundhouse to report for duty. His brisk step showed that he was limited as to time, but he paused for a moment.
“You got there, Fairbanks, didn’t you?” he commented heartily. “Good. I knew you would, but say, what about this mix-up on the signals at Plympton?”
“Oh, that wasn’t much,” declared Ralph.
“Enough to put the master mechanic on his mettle,” objected the veteran engineer. “He’s going to call all hands on the carpet. Had me in yesterday afternoon. He showed me your conductor’s report wired from Bridgeport. It throws all the blame on Adams, the new station man at Plympton. The conductor declares it was all his fault—‘color blind,’ see? Master mechanic had Adams down there yesterday.”
“Surely no action is taken yet?” inquired Ralph anxiously.
“No, but I fancy Adams will go. It’s a plain case, I think. Your signals were special and clear right of way, that’s sure. Danforth is ready to swear to that. Adams quite as positively swears that the green signals on the locomotive were set on a call for the siding. He broke down and cried like a child when it was hinted that a discharge from the service was likely.”84
“Poor fellow, I must see the master mechanic at once,” said Ralph.
“You’ll have to, for your explanation goes with him and will settle the affair. You see, it seems that Adams had broken up his old home and gone to the trouble and expense of moving his family to Plympton. Now, to be let out would be a pretty hard blow to him. Of course, though, if he is color blind––”
“He is not color blind!” cried Ralph, with so much earnestness that Griscom stared at him strangely.
“Aha! so you say that, do you?” observed the old engineer, squinting his eyes suspiciously. “Then—Fogg. Tricks, I’ll bet!”
“I’ll talk to you later, Mr. Griscom,” said Ralph.
“Good, I want to know, and I see you have something to tell.”
The young engineer had, indeed, considerable to tell when the time came to justify the disclosures. He was worried as to how he should tell it, and to whom. Ralph sat down in the little vine-embowered summer-house in the garden, and had a good hard spell of thought. Then, as his hand went into his pocket and rested on the piece of cloth with its enclosure which he had found in Fogg’s bunker on No. 999, he started85from his seat, a certain firm, purposeful expression on his face.
“I’ve got to do it,” he said to himself, as he went along in the direction of the home of Lemuel Fogg. “Somebody has got to take the responsibility of the collision. Adams, the new station man at Plympton, is innocent of any blame. It would be a terrible misfortune for him to lose his job. Fogg has sickness in his family. The truth coming out, might spoil all the future of that bright daughter of his. As to myself—why, if worse comes to worse, I can find a place with my good friends on the Short Line Railway down near Dover. I’m young, I’m doing right in making the sacrifice, and I’m not afraid of the future. Yes, it is a hard way for a fellow with all the bright dreams I’ve had, but—I’m going to do it!”
The young engineer had made a grand, a mighty resolve. It was a severe struggle, a hard, bitter sacrifice of self interest, but Ralph felt that a great duty presented, and he faced its exactions manfully.
The home of Lemuel Fogg the fireman was about four blocks distant. As Ralph reached it, he found a great roaring fire of brush and rubbish burning in the side yard.
“A good sign, if that is a spurt of home industry86with Fogg,” decided the young railroader. “He’s tidying up the place. It needs it bad enough,” and Ralph glanced critically at the disordered yard.
Nobody was astir about the place. Ralph knew that Mrs. Fogg had been very ill of late, and that there was an infant in the house. He decided to wait until Fogg appeared, when he noticed the fireman way down the rear alley. His back was to Ralph and he was carrying a rake. Fogg turned into a yard, and Ralph started after him calculating that the fireman was returning the implement to a neighbor. Just as Ralph came to the yard, the fireman came out of it.
At a glance the young engineer noted a change in the face of Fogg that both surprised and pleased him. The fireman looked fresh, bright and happy. He was humming a little tune, and he swung along as if on cheerful business bent, and as if all things were coming swimmingly with him.
“How are you, Mr. Fogg?” hailed Ralph.
The fireman changed color, a half-shamed, half-defiant look came into his face, but he clasped the extended hand of the young railroader and responded heartily to its friendly pressure.
“I’ve got something to tell you, Fairbanks,” he87said, straightening up as if under some striving sense of manliness.
“That’s all right,” nodded Ralph with a smile. “I’m going back to the house with you, and will be glad to have a chat with you. First, though, I want to say something to you, so we’ll pause here for a moment.”
“I’ve—I’ve made a new start,” stammered Fogg. “I’ve buried the past.”
“Good!” cried Ralph, giving his companion a hearty slap on the shoulder, “that’s just what I was going to say to you. Bury the past—yes, deep, fathoms deep, without another word, never to be resurrected. To prove it, let’s first bury this. Kick it under that ash heap yonder, Mr. Fogg, and forget all about it. Here’s something that belongs to you. Put it out of sight, and never speak of it or think of it again.”
And Ralph handed to the fireman the package done up in the oiling cloth that he had unearthed from Fogg’s bunker in the cab of No. 999.
88CHAPTER XFIRE!
Lemuel Fogg gave a violent start as he received the parcel from Ralph’s hand. His face fell and the color deserted it. The package unrolled in his grasp, and he let it drop to the ground. Two square sheets of green colored mica rolled out from the bundle.
“Fairbanks!” spoke the fireman hoarsely, his lips quivering—“you know?”
“I surmise a great deal,” replied Ralph promptly, “and I want to say nothing more about it.”
“But—”
“I have figured it all out. Adams, the station man at Plympton, has a family. You are going to turn over a leaf, I have decided to take all the blame for the collision on the siding. I shall see the master mechanic within an hour and settle everything. I am going to resign my position with the Great Northern road.”
The fireman’s jaws dropped at this amazing89declaration of the young railroader. It seemed as if for a moment he was fairly petrified at the unexpected disclosure of the noble self-sacrifice involved. He did not have to explain what those two sheets of green mica signified—Ralph knew too well. Inspired by jealousy, Lemuel Fogg had slipped them over the white signal lights of No. 999 as the locomotive approached Plympton, getting the siding semaphore, and removing them before the smash-up had come about.
“Never!” shouted Fogg suddenly. “Let me tell you, Fairbanks—”
Before the speaker could finish the sentence Ralph seized his arm with the startling words:
“Mr. Fogg, look—fire!”
Facing about, Lemuel Fogg uttered a frightful cry as he discerned what had just attracted the notice of the young engineer. The Fogg house was in flames.
When Ralph had first noticed the fiercely-burning heap of rubbish on the Fogg premises, he had observed that it was dangerously near to the house. It had ignited the dry light timber of the dwelling, the whole rear part of which was now a mass of smoke and flames.
“My wife—my helpless wife and the little child!” burst from the lips of the frantic fireman in a shrill, ringing scream.90
Ralph joined him as he ran down the alley on a mad run. The great sweat stood out on the bloodless face of the agonized husband and father in knobs, his eyes wore a frenzied expression of suspense and alarm.
“Save them! save them!” he shouted, as Ralph kept pace with him.
“Don’t get excited, Mr. Fogg,” spoke Ralph reassuringly. “We shall be in time.”
“But she cannot move—she is in the bedroom directly over the kitchen. Oh, this is a judgment for all my wickedness!”
“Be a man,” encouraged Ralph. “Here we are—let me help you.”
“Up the back stairs!” cried Fogg. “They are nearest to her.”
“No, no—you can never get up them,” declared Ralph.
The side door of the house was open, showing a pair of stairs, but they were all ablaze. Smoke and sparks poured up this natural funnel fiercely. Ralph caught at the arm of his companion and tried to detain him, but Fogg broke away from his grasp.
Ralph saw him disappear beyond the blazing barrier. He was about to run around to the front of the house, when he heard a hoarse cry. Driven back by the overpowering smoke, Fogg had91stumbled. He fell headlong down a half a dozen steps, his head struck the lower platform, and he rolled out upon the gravel walk, stunned.
Ralph quickly dragged the man out of the range of the fire and upon the grass. He tried to arouse Fogg, but was unsuccessful. There was no time to lose. Seizing a half-filled bucket standing by the well near by, Ralph deluged the head of the insensible fireman with its contents. It did not revive him. Ralph sped to the front of the house, ran up on the stoop and jerked at the knob of the front screen door.
It was locked, but Ralph tore it open in an instant. A woman’s frantic screams echoed as the young railroader dashed into the house. He was quickly up the front stairs. At the top landing he paused momentarily, unable to look about him clearly because of the dense smoke that permeated the place.
Those frenzied screams again ringing out guided him down a narrow hallway to the rear upper bedroom. The furniture in it was just commencing to take fire. On the floor was the fireman’s wife, a tiny babe held in one arm, while with the other she was trying unsuccessfully to pull herself out of range of the fire.
“Save me! save me!” she shrieked, as Ralph’s form was vaguely outlined to her vision.92
“Do not be alarmed, Mrs. Fogg,” spoke Ralph quickly—“there’s no danger.”
He ran to the bed, speedily pulled off a blanket lying there, and wrapped it about the woman.
“Hold the child closely,” he directed, and bodily lifted mother and babe in his strong, sinewy arms. The young railroader staggered under his great burden as he made for the hallway, but never was he so glad of his early athletic training as at this critical moment in his life.
It was a strenuous and perilous task getting down the front stairs with his load, but Ralph managed it. He carried mother and child clear out into the garden, placed them carefully on a rustic bench there, and then ran towards the well.
By this time people had come to the scene of the fire. There were two buckets at the well. A neighbor and the young railroader soon formed a limited bucket brigade, but it was slow work hauling up the water, and the flames had soon gained a headway that made their efforts to quench them useless.
Ralph organized the excited onlookers to some system in removing what could be saved from the burning house. In the meantime he had directed a boy to hasten to the nearest telephone and call out the fire department. Soon the clanging bell of the hose cart echoed in the near distance. The rear93part of the house had been pretty well burned down by this time, and the front of the building began to blaze.
Ralph got a light wagon from the barn of a neighbor. A comfortable couch was made of pillows and blankets, and Mrs. Fogg and her child were placed on this. Ralph found no difficulty in enlisting volunteers to haul the wagon to his home, where his mother soon had the poor lady and her babe in a condition of safety and comfort. As Ralph returned to the dismantled and still smoking Fogg home he met a neighbor.
“Oh, Fairbanks,” spoke this person, “you’re in great demand up at the Foggs.”
“How is that?”
“Fogg has come to. They told him about your saving his wife and child. He cried like a baby at first. Then he insisted on finding you. He’s blessing you for your noble heroism, I tell you.”
“I don’t know about the noble heroism,” returned Ralph with a smile. “Go back, will you, and tell him I’ll see him in about an hour. Tell him to come down to our house at once. It’s all arranged there to make him feel at home until he can make other arrangements.”
“You’re a mighty good fellow, Fairbanks” declared94the man enthusiastically, “and everybody knows it!”
“Thank you,” returned Ralph, and proceeded on his way. As he casually looked at his watch the young railroader quickened his steps with the half-murmured words:
“And now for a tussle with the master mechanic.”
95CHAPTER XITHE MASTER MECHANIC
“Want to resign, do you?”
“That is what I came here for, sir,” said the young engineer of No. 999.
“Well, you’re too late,” and the master mechanic of the Great Northern seemed to turn his back on Ralph, busying himself with some papers on his desk. He was a great, gruff fellow with the heart of a child, but he showed it rarely. A diamond in the rough, most of the employees of the road were afraid of him. Not so Ralph. The young railroader had won the respect and admiration of the official by his loyalty and close attention to duty. In fact, Ralph felt that the influence of the master mechanic had been considerable of an element in his promotion to No. 999. He stepped nearer to the desk, managing to face the would-be tyro.
“Too late, sir?” he repeated vaguely.
“Didn’t I say so? Get out!”96
The master mechanic waved his hand, and Ralph was a trifle surprised at what seemed a peremptory dismissal. The moving arm of the old railroader described a swoop, grasped the hand of Ralph in a fervent grip, and pulling the young engineer to almost an embrace, he said:
“Fairbanks, we had in our family a little boy who died. It’s a pretty tender memory with us, but every time I look at you I think of the dear little fellow. He’d have been a railroader, too, if he had lived, and the fondest wish of my heart is that he might have been like you.”
“Why––” murmured the astonished Ralph.
The master mechanic cleared his throat and his great hand swept the moisture from his eyes. Then in a more practical tone he resumed:
“I said you was too late.”
“Too late for what?”
“Resigning. You are too late,” observed the official, “because Lemuel Fogg has already been here.”
“Then––”
“To tender his resignation, to tell the whole truthful story of the collision on the siding at Plympton. Fairbanks,” continued the master mechanic very seriously, “you are a noble young fellow. I know your design to bear the whole brunt of the smash-up, in order that you might97save your fireman and the station man down at Plympton. As I said, Fogg was here. I never saw a man so broken. He told me everything. He told me of your patience, of your kindness, your manliness. Lad, your treatment of Fogg under those circumstances shows the mettle in you that will make you a great man, and, what is better still, a good man.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Ralph in a subdued tone, deeply affected despite himself.
“For the first time in twenty years’ service,” continued the official, “I am going to take a serious responsibility on myself which should be rightly shouldered by the company. The Plympton incident is dead and buried. The three of us must hold always the secret close. The black mark is rubbed off the slate.”
“You have done right—oh, believe me, sir!” declared Ralph earnestly. “I feel sure that Mr. Fogg has learned a lesson that he will never forget, and the blessings of his sick wife, of his ambitious young daughter, will be yours.”
“In my desk yonder,” continued the master mechanic, “I have his written pledge that drink is a thing of the past with him. I told Fogg that if ever he disappointed me in my belief that he was a changed man, a reformed man, I would leave the service feeling that my mistaken judgment98did not do justice to my position with the Great Northern. As to you, ready to sacrifice yourself for the sake of others—you are a young man among thousands. Drop it now—get out!” ordered the master mechanic, with a vast show of authority. “It’s all under seal of silence, and I expect to see you and Fogg make a great team.”
“Mr. Fogg’s house has just burned down,” said Ralph. “It would have broken him down completely, if his discharge had been added to that misfortune.”
“Burned down?” repeated the master mechanic, in surprise and with interest. “How was that?” and Ralph had to recite the story of the fire. He added that he had heard Fogg had but little insurance.
“Wait a minute,” directed the official, and he went into the next office. Ralph heard him dictating something to his stenographer. Then the typewriter clicked, and shortly afterwards the master mechanic came into the office with a sheet of foolscap, which he handed to Ralph. A pleased flush came into the face of the young railroader as he read the typewritten heading of the sheet—it was a subscription list in behalf of Lemuel Fogg, and headed by the signature of the master mechanic, with “$20” after it.99
“You are a noble man!” cried Ralph irresistibly. “No wonder it’s a joy to work for you.”
“Down brakes there!” laughed the big-hearted fellow. “Don’t draw it too strong, Fairbanks. Don’t be more liberal than you can afford now,” he directed, as Ralph placed the paper on the desk, and added to it his subscription for $10. “You can tell Fogg we’re rising a few pennies for him. I’ll circulate the subscription among the officials, and if any plan to have the roundhouse crowd chip in a trifle comes to your mind, why, start it down the rails. Get out.”
“All right,” cried Ralph. “You’ve said that twice, so I guess it’s time to go now.”
“One minute, though,” added the master mechanic. “You and Fogg will run No. 999 on the Tipton accommodation to-morrow. It’s a shift berth, though. I don’t want you to go dreaming quite yet, Fairbanks, that you’re president of the Great Northern, and all that, but, under the hat, I will say that you can expect a boost. We are figuring on some big things, and I shouldn’t wonder if a new train is soon to be announced that will wake up some of our rivals. Get out now for good, for I’m swamped with work here.”
The young engineer left the office of the master mechanic with a very happy heart. Affairs had turned out to his entire satisfaction, and, too,100for the benefit of those whose welfare he had considered beyond his own. Ralph was full of the good news he had to impart to Lemuel Fogg. As he left the vicinity of the depot, he began to formulate a plan in his mind for securing a subscription from his fellow workers to aid Fogg.
“I say,” suddenly remarked Ralph to himself with a queer smile, and halting in his progress, “talk about coincidences, here is one for certain. ‘The Overland Limited,’ why, I’ve got an idea!”
The “Overland Limited” had been in Ralph’s mind ever since leaving the office of the master mechanic. There could be only one solution to the hint that official had given of “new trains that would wake up some of the rivals of the Great Northern.” That road had recently bought up two connecting lines of railroad. The China & Japan Mail experiment—could it be a test as to the possibility of establishing an “Overland Special?” At all events, there was a pertinent suggestion in the words that met the gaze of the young engineer and caused him to halt calculatingly.
A newly-painted store front with clouded windows had a placard outside bearing the announcement: “Olympia Theatre, 10-cent show. Will open next Saturday evening with the following special scenes: 1—The Poor Artist. 2—London101by Gaslight. 3—A Day on the Overland Limited.” At the door of the store just being renovated for a picture show stood a man, tying some printed bills to an awning rod for passers by to take. Ralph approached this individual.
“Going to open a moving picture show?” he inquired in a friendly way.
“I am,” responded the show man. “Interested?”
“Yes,” answered Ralph.
“I hope the public will be. It’s a sort of experiment, with two other shows in town. There’s none in this locality, and they tell me I’ll do well.”
“I should think so,” answered Ralph. “Bright, clean pictures will draw a good crowd.”
“I’d like to get the railroad men in touch with me. They and their families could give me lots of business. There’s that prime ‘Overland’ scene. It’s a new and fine film.”
“And it has suggested something to me that you may be glad to follow out,” spoke Ralph.
“And what’s that, neighbor?” inquired the showman curiously.
“I’ll tell you,” responded Ralph. “There was a fire in town to-day—one of the best-known firemen on the road was burned out. It’s a big blow to him, for he’s lost about all he had. There isn’t a railroad man in Stanley Junction who would102not be glad to help him get on his feet again. The big fellows of the road will subscribe in a good way, but the workers can’t spare a great deal.”
“I see,” nodded the man. “What are you getting at, though?”
“Just this,” explained Ralph. “You get out some special dodgers and announce your opening night as a benefit for Lemuel Fogg, fireman. Offer to donate fifty per cent. of the proceeds to Fogg, and I’ll guarantee to crowd your house to the doors.”
“Say!” enthused the man, slapping Ralph boisterously on the shoulder, “you’re a natural showman. Write me the dodger, will you, and I’ll have it over the streets inside of twenty-four hours.”
“I’m better at filling in time schedules than composing show bills,” said Ralph, “but I’ll have a try at this one for my friend’s sake.”
Ralph went inside and was soon busy with blank paper and pencil, which the showman provided. His composition was a very creditable piece of literary work, and the showman chuckled immensely, and told Ralph that he could consider himself on the free list—“with all his family.”
Ralph made a start for home again, but his fixed plans were scheduled for frequent changes, it seemed. An engineer friend, on his way to the roundhouse, met him, and Ralph turned and103walked that way with him. He broached the subject nearest to his heart, and soon had his companion interested in the subscription for Lemuel Fogg. When he parted with the man at the end of the depot platform the latter had promised to be responsible for great results among his fellow-workmen.
The young engineer now proceeded in the direction of home. The whistle of the western accommodation, however, just arriving, held him stationary for a few moments, and he stood watching the train roll into the depot with the interest ever present with a railroader.
The last coach was a chair car. As the coaches jolted to a halt, there crawled or rather rolled from under the chair car a forlorn figure, weakened, tattered, a stowaway delivered from a perilous stolen ride on the trucks.
It was a boy; Ralph saw that at a glance. As the depot watchman ran forward to nab this juvenile offender against the law, the boy sat up on the board plankway where he had landed, and Ralph caught a sight of his face.
In an instant the young railroader recognized this new arrival. It was “Wheels,” otherwise Archie Graham, the boy inventor.
104CHAPTER XIIA GOOD FRIEND
RALPH could not repress a smile at a sight of the erratic youth. The young inventor, it seemed, was always coming to light in some original way. His last sensational appearance fitted in naturally to his usual eccentric methods.
“Hey, there! trying to beat the railroad, eh?” shouted the depot official officer, rushing forward to nab the culprit.
“Don’t arrest him, Mr. Brooks,” spoke Ralph quickly. “I know him; I’m interested in him. He is no professional ride-stealer, and I am perfectly satisfied that he never went to all that risk and discomfort because he didn’t have the money to pay his fare.”
The watchman was an old-time friend of Ralph. He looked puzzled, but he halted in his original intention of arresting the stowaway. Young Graham paid no attention to anything going on about him. He seemed occupied as usual with his own105thoughts solely. First he dug cinders out of his blinking eyes. Then he rubbed the coating of grime and soot from his face, and began groping in his pockets. Very ruefully he turned out one particular inside coat pocket. He shook his head in a doleful way.
“Gone!” he remarked. “Lost my pocket book. Friend—a pencil, quick.”
These words he spoke to Ralph, beckoning him earnestly to approach nearer.
“And a card, a piece of paper, anything I can write on. Don’t delay—hurry, before I forget it.”
Ralph found a stub of a pencil and some railroad blanks in his pocket, and gave them to the young inventor. Then the latter set at work, becoming utterly oblivious of his surroundings. For nearly two minutes he was occupied in making memoranda and drawing small sections of curves and lines.
“All right, got it, good!” he voiced exultantly, as he returned the pencil to Ralph and carefully stowed the slips of paper in his pocket. Then he arose to his feet. He smiled queerly as he gazed down at his tattered garments and grimed and blistered hands.
“Pretty looking sight, ain’t I?” he propounded to the young engineer. “Had to do it, though. Glad I did it. Got the actual details, see?”106
“What of, may I ask?” inquired Ralph.
“New idea. Save fuel, make the engine go faster. Been figuring on it for months,” explained the strange boy. “I live at Bridgeport.”
“Yes, I know,” nodded Ralph. “I saw you there.”
“Did? Glad of that, too. If you feel friendly enough, maybe you’ll advise me what to do in my distressing plight. Stranger here, and lost my pocketbook. It fell out of my pocket while I was hanging on to the trucks. Not a cent.”
“That can be fixed all right, I think,” said Ralph.
“Clothes all riddled—need a bath.”
“You had better come with me to the hotel, Mr. Graham,” spoke Ralph. “I know enough about you to be interested in you. I will vouch for you to the hotel keeper, who will take care of you until you hear from home.”
“Yes. Got money in the bank at Bridgeport,” said Archie Graham. “As I was telling you, I’ve struck a new idea. You know I’ve been trying to invent something for a number of years.”
“Yes, I’ve heard about that, and sincerely hope you will figure out a success.”
“Stick at it, anyway,” declared Archie. “Well, at Bridgeport they take me as a joke, see? That’s all right; I’ll show them, some day. They voted107me a nuisance at the shops and shut me out. Wouldn’t let me come near their engines. I had to find out some things necessary to my inventions, so I came on to Stanley Junction. Rode in a coach like any other civilized being until I got about ten miles from here—last stop.”
“Yes,” nodded Ralph.
“Well, there I stepped out of the coach and under it. Whew! but it was an experience I’ll never try again. All the same, I got what I was after. I wanted to learn how many revolutions an axle made in so many minutes. I wanted to know, too, how a belt could be attached under a coach. I’ve got the outlines of the facts, how to work out my invention: ‘Graham’s Automatic Bellows Gearing.’”
Ralph did not ask for further details as to the device his companion had in mind. He led a pleasant conversation the way from the depot, and when they reached the hotel introduced Archie to its proprietor.
“This friend of mine will be all right for what he orders, Mr. Lane,” said Ralph.
“Yes, I’m going to stay here some days, perhaps a week or two,” explained the young inventor, “so, if you’ll give me a blank check I’ll fill it for what cash I may need. You put it through your bank and the funds will be here to-morrow.”108
Everything was arranged in a satisfactory way, even to Archie ordering a new suit of clothes. The youth came out temporarily from his usual profundity, and had a real, natural boyish talk with Ralph. The latter recited the incident of the adventure with Billy Bouncer’s crowd at Bridgeport.
“Oh, that Jim Scroggins fellow,” said Archie, with a smile. “Yes, I remember—‘kick him Scroggins.’ You see, he had broken into my workshop, destroyed some devices I was working on and stole a lot of my tools. So you’re Mr. Fairbanks? I’ve heard of you.”
“Ralph, you mean, Mr. Graham,” observed the young railroader pleasantly.
“Then Archie, you mean,” added his eccentric companion. “I’d like to be friends with you, for I can see you are the right sort. You’ve done a good deal for me.”
“Oh, don’t notice that.”
“And you can do a good deal more.”
“Indeed? How?”
“By getting me free range of your roundhouse here. Can you?”
“I will be glad to do it,” answered Ralph.
“I hope you will,” said Archie gratefully. “They don’t know me here, and they won’t poke fun at me or hinder me. I’m not going to steal109any of their locomotives. I just want to study them.”
“That’s all right,” said Ralph, “I’ll see you to-morrow and fix things for you, so you will be welcome among my railroad friends.”
“You’re a royal good fellow, Mr. Ralph,” declared the young inventor with enthusiasm, “and I don’t know how to thank you enough.”
“Well, I’ve tried to do something for humanity to-day,” reflected the young engineer brightly, as he wended his way homewards. “It comes easy and natural, too, when a fellow’s trying to do his level best.”
Ralph found his mother bustling about at a great rate when he reached home. The excitement over the fire had died down. Fogg was up at the ruins getting his rescued household belongings to a neighborly shelter. The string of excited friends to condole with Mrs. Fogg had dwindled away, and the poor lady lay in comfort and peace in the best bedroom of the house.
“She seems so grateful to you for having saved her life,” Mrs. Fairbanks told Ralph, “and so glad, she told me, that her husband had signed the pledge, that she takes the fire quite reasonably.”
“Yes,” remarked Ralph, “I heard about the pledge, and it is a blessed thing. I have other110grand news, too. There’s a lot of good fellows in Stanley Junction, and the Foggs won’t be long without a shelter over their heads,” and Ralph told his mother all about the subscription list and the moving picture show benefit.
“You are a grand manager, Ralph,” said the fond mother. “I am only too glad to do my share in making these people welcome and comfortable.”
“You know how to do it, mother,” declared Ralph, “that’s sure.”
“It seems as if things came about just right to take in the Foggs,” spoke Mrs. Fairbanks. “Limpy Joe went back to his restaurant on the Short Line yesterday, and Zeph Dallas has left, looking for a new job, he says, so we have plenty of spare rooms for our guests.”
Ralph started for the ruined Fogg homestead to see if he could be of any use there. He came upon Fogg moving some furniture to the barn of a neighbor on a hand-cart. The fireman dropped the handles as he saw Ralph. His face worked with vivid emotion as he grasped the hand of the young railroader.
“Fairbanks,” he said, “what can I say to you except that you have been the best friend I have ever known!”111
“Nothing, except to make up your mind that the friendship will last if you want to suit me.”
“Honest—honest?” urged Fogg, the tears in his eyes, earnestly regarding Ralph’s face. “You don’t despise me?”
“Oh, yes, we all dislike you, Mr. Fogg!” railed Ralph, with a hearty laugh. “The master mechanic has such bitter animosity for you, that he’s taking his revenge by circulating a subscription list to help build you a new home.”
“Never!” gasped Fogg, overcome.
“What’s more,” proceeded Ralph, in the same ironical tone, “the men down at the roundhouse have such a deep grudge against you, that they are following his example.”
“I don’t deserve it—I don’t deserve it!” murmured the fireman.
“Why, even the new moving picture showman is so anxious to throw you down, that he’s going to give you a benefit Saturday evening.”
“I guess I’m the wickedest and happiest man in the world,” said Fogg, in a subdued tone.
“You ought to be the happiest, after that little memoranda you gave to the master mechanic,” suggested Ralph.
“The pledge? Yes!” cried the fireman, “and I mean to keep it, too. He told you about it?”
“And everything else necessary to tell,” replied112Ralph. “It’s all settled. He says you and I ought to make a strong team. Let’s try, hard, Mr. Fogg.”
“Lad, I’ll show you!” declared Fogg solemnly.
“All right, then say no more about it, and let us get these traps under cover, and get home to enjoy a famous meal my mother is preparing for all hands.”
Activity and excitement around the Fairbanks home did not die down until long after dark. All the afternoon and evening people came to the house to see Fogg, to offer sympathy and practical assistance. If the fireman needed encouragement, he got plenty of it. He seemed to have grown into a new man under the chastening, and yet hopeful influences of that eventful day in his life. Before his very eyes Ralph fancied he saw his fireman grow in new manliness, courage and earnestness of purpose.
All hands were tired enough to sleep soundly that night. When Ralph came down stairs in the morning, his mother told him that Fogg was up and about already. She believed he had gone up to the ruins to look over things in a general way. Ralph went out to hunt up the stroller for breakfast.
Scarcely started from the house, he halted abruptly, for the object of his quest was in view.113Ralph saw the fireman about half a block away. He was facing two men whom Ralph recognized as Hall and Wilson, two blacklisters who had been prominent in the railroad strike.
One of them was gesticulating vigorously and telling something to Fogg, while his companion chipped in a word now and then. Suddenly something appeared to be said that roused up the fireman. His hand went up in the air with an angry menacing motion. He shouted out some words that Ralph could not hear at the distance he was from the scene.
The two men seemed to remonstrate. One of them raised his own fist menacingly. The other crowded towards Fogg in a stealthy, suspicious way.
In a flash the climax came. Swinging out his giant hand, the fireman of No. 999 seized his nearest opponent and gave him a fling into the ditch. He then sprang at the other, and sent him whirling head over heels to join his companion.