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Page 53
"Flag it."
"My orders--"
"Won't interfere, in this case," insisted Bart. "That trunk has got two
thousand dollars worth of stuff in it, and was stolen. I recovered it,
the thieves are after me, and it has got to go to Cedar Lake on Number
18."
"Well! well! well!" muttered the station agent in a daze, but hastening
to place the stop signal.
Bart went inside and unceremoniously approached the office desk. He
wrote on a slip of paper, placed it in his pocket, shifted the trunk to
the head end of the platform, and stationed himself beside it.
"Is all that you're telling me true?" propounded the bewildered station
agent, sidling up to Bart's side.
"Every word of it."
"Where did you get the hand car?"
"I found it. Oh, by the way! I wish you would explain to me about that
railroad; what is it, what excuse has it got for existing?"
"Oh, that?" said the station agent "It's the old quarry spur. A company
built it five years ago with grand plans for shipping mottled tiling
slate all over the country. Their money gave out and the scheme was
never put through."
"And the hand car?"
"There's four men who live here who got the privilege of digging out
slate for a big plumbers' supply house in the city. They go to the
quarry and back on the hand car daily. Did they loan it to you?"
"No," said Bart, "I was in a hurry, and had to borrow it without
permission."
"They'll have a fine walk back here in this storm!"
"I was going to suggest," said Bart, taking half a dollar from his
pocket, "that you might hire some boy to run the hand car back to the
quarry."
"I can do that," answered the station agent.
Number 18 came sailing down the rails. As she slowed up, everyone on
duty from the fireman to the brakeman was on the lookout for the cause
of the unusual stop.
The conductor jumped off and ran up to the station agent, and while the
latter was busy explaining the situation Bart hammered on the door of
the express car.
"Why it's Stirling!" cried old Ben Travers, the veteran express
messenger, sliding back the door.
"You're right, Mr. Travers," assented Bart. "Here's a special and
urgent. Get it aboard before the conductor comes up and jumps all over
me for stopping the train."
Travers popped down in a lively fashion. They hoisted the trunk together
and sent it spinning into the car.
"Cedar Lake, make a sure delivery, Mr. Travers," directed Bart. "Here,
put your manifesto on that receipt, will you?" and Bart drew the slip of
paper he had written on in the depot from his pocket.
The conductor, a pompous, self-contained old fellow, started towards
Bart to haul him over the coals, but Bart wisely walked farther down the
platform, the conductor gave the go-ahead signal and shook his fist
sternly at Bart, while the latter with a gay, relieved laugh waved him
back a cheery, courteous good-by.
Bart told the station agent a very little about the history of the
trunk. He left a dollar to pay for the broken hand car lock. He was in
high spirits as he caught the east bound train. The whistles were
blowing for a quarter of six as he reached Pleasantville and leaped from
the engine, where a friendly engineer had given him a free ride, and in
three minutes was at the door of the little express office.
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