Ralph of the Roundhouse; Or, Bound to Become a Railroad Man

by Frank V. Webster

  CHAPTER X--THE MYSTERIOUS LETTER

  Will and his friend offered to attend to the broken window in the oldfactory for Ralph, and the latter was glad to accept the tenderedservice.

  He gave them the price of glass and putty, and a blunt case knife, toldthem they would find his rule under the window, and as they departedfelt assured they would attend to the matter with promptness anddispatch.

  Ralph had something on his mind that he felt he could best carry outalone, and after their departure he left his mother quietly sewing inher rocking chair to watch their placidly slumbering guest.

  "The boy is a stranger here, of course," Ralph ruminated. "Where did hecome from? I hope I will find something among his belongings that willtell."

  They were poor belongings, and now hung across a clothes line in theback yard, drying in the warm sunshine.

  The coat and trousers were of coarse material, clumsily patched here andthere as if by a novice, and Ralph decided did not bear that certainunmistakable trace that tells of home or motherly care.

  In the trousers pocket Ralph found a coil of string, a blunt bladedpocket knife, and a hunk of linen thread with a couple of needles stuckin it--this was all.

  The coat contained not a single clew as to the identity of the stranger,not a hint of his regular place of residence, whence he had come orwhither he was going.

  It held but one object--a letter which the boy when pursued by the depotguardians had shown to Ralph the morning previous, and which at thattime with considerable astonishment Ralph had observed bore thesuperscription: "Mr. John Fairbanks."

  He had thought of the letter and wondered at its existence, the possiblesender, the singular messenger, a score of times since he had attemptedto take it from the dead-head passenger of the 10.15.

  Now he held it in his grasp, but Ralph handled it gingerly. Theenvelope was soaking wet, just as was the coat and the pocket he hadtaken it from. As he removed it from its resting place he observed thatthe poor ink of the superscription had run, and the letters of theaddress were faded and fast disappearing.

  To open it with any hope of removing its contents intact in its presentcondition was clearly impossible. Ralph held it carefully against thesunlight. Its envelope was thin, and he saw dark patches and blursinside, indicating that the writing there had run also.

  "I had better let it dry before I attempt to open it," decided Ralph,and he placed it on a smooth board near the well in the full focus ofthe bright sunshine.

  A good deal hinged on that letter, he told himself. It would at allevents settle the identity of his dead father's correspondent, again itwould divulge who it was that had sent the letter and the messenger, andthus the unfortunate's friends could be found. It would take a littletime to dry out the soggy envelope, and Ralph paced about the gardenpaths, whistling softly to himself and thinking hard over the queerhappenings of the past twenty-four hours.

  As he passed the window of the little sitting room, he tiptoed thegravel path up to it and glanced in.

  His mother still sat in the rocker, but she had fallen into a slightdoze, and her sewing lay idle in her lap. Ralph, transferring his gazeto the armchair where they had so comfortably bestowed the invalid,fairly started with astonishment.

  "Why, he isn't there!" breathed Ralph in some alarm, and ran around tothe entrance by the kitchen door.

  At its threshold Ralph paused, enchained by the unexpected picture theredisclosed to his view.

  The injured boy stood at the sink. He had found and tied about hiswaist a work apron belonging to Mrs. Fairbanks. Before him was thedishpan half-full of water, and he had washed and wiped neatly andquickly the dishes from the tray.

  He arranged the various articles in their respective drawers andshelves, stood back viewing them with satisfaction, removed the apron,carefully hung it up, and went to the open back door leading into thewood shed.

  Ralph's alarm for fear that his guest had wandered off or might dohimself a mischief, gave place to pleased interest.

  It looked as if the strange boy had been used to some methodicalfeatures of domestic life, and habit was fitting him readily andcomfortably into the groove in which he found himself.

  Ralph decided that he would not startle or disturb the stranger, butwould watch to see what he did next.

  The boy glanced towards the wood box behind the cook stove. In thehurry of the past twenty-four hours Ralph had not found time to keep itas well filled as usual.

  His guest evidently observed this, went into the wood shed, seatedhimself on the chopping log, and seizing the short handled ax there,began chopping the sawed lengths piled near at hand with a pleased,hearty good will.

  Mrs. Fairbanks, disturbed by the sound of chopping, had awakened, andwith some trepidation came hurrying from the sitting room, anxiouslyseeking to learn what had become of their guest.

  Ralph motioned her to silence, his finger on his lip, and pointedsignificantly through the open rear doorway.

  A pathetic sympathy crossed the widow's face and the tears came into hereyes. Ralph left her to keep an unobtrusive watch on their guest, andreturning to the well, found the envelope he had left there pretty welldried out.

  He carefully removed the envelope, and placed it in his pocket. Then heas carefully unfolded the sheet within.

  An expression of dismay crossed his face. The inside screed had notbeen written in ink, but with a soft purple lead pencil. This the rainhad affected even more than it had the envelope in which it had beenenclosed.

  At first sight the missive was an indecipherable blur, but scanning itmore closely, Ralph gained some faint hope that he might make out atleast a part of its contents.

  He had a magnifying glass in his workroom in the attic, and he wentthere for it. For nearly an hour Ralph pored over the sheet of paperwhich he held in his hand.

  His face was a study as he came downstairs again, and sought his mother.

  She sat near the doorway between the kitchen and the sitting room, whereshe could keep sight of their guest.

  The invalid was seated on the door step of the wood shed shelling a panof peas, as happy and contented a mortal as one would see in a day'sjourney.

  "He is a good boy," said the widow softly to Ralph, "and winsome withhis gentle, easy ways. He seems to delight in occupation. What is it,Ralph?" she added, as she noted the serious, preoccupied look on herson's face.

  "It is about the letter, mother," explained Ralph. "I told you partlyabout it. It was certainly directed to father, and some one employed orsent this boy to deliver it."

  "Who was it, Ralph?" inquired Mrs. Fairbanks.

  "That I can not tell."

  "Was it not signed?"

  "It was once, but the upper fold and the lower fold of the sheet are aperfect blur. I have been able to make out a few words here and therein the center portion, but they tell nothing coherently."

  Mrs. Fairbanks looked disappointed.

  "That is unfortunate, Ralph," she said. "I hoped it would give sometoken of this boy's home or friends. But probably, when he does notreturn, and no answer comes to that letter, the writer will send anotherletter by mail."

  "The boy may have been only incidentally employed to deliver it,"suggested Ralph, "and not particularly known to the sender at all."

  "I can not imagine who would be writing to your dead father," said Mrs.Fairbanks thoughtfully. "It can scarcely be of much importance."

  "Mother," said Ralph, with an emphasis that impressed the widow, "I amsatisfied this letter was of unusual importance--so much so that aspecial messenger was employed, and that is what puzzles me. A line init was plainly 'your railroad bonds,' another as plainly refers to 'themortgage,' the last word heads like 'Farewell,' and there is somethingthat looks very much like: 'to get even with that old schemer, GasperFarrington.'"

  The widow started violently.

  "Why, Ralph!" she exclaimed.

  "Yes, mother. We may never know more than this. It is all a strangep
roceeding, but if that poor fellow out yonder could tell all he knows,I believe it would surprise and enlighten us very much, and in a waygreatly for our benefit."

  "Then we must wait with patience, and hope with courage," said Mrs.Fairbanks calmly.

  Ralph felt all that he said. He could not get the letter out of hismind that evening.

  They fitted up a little spare room off the dining room for their guest.He went quietly to bed when they led him there, after enjoying a good,supper, never speaking a word, never smiling, but with a pleased nodbetokening that he appreciated every little kindness they showed him.

  The next morning Ralph Fairbanks went to work at the roundhouse.