CHAPTER VIII
THE OLD SWITCH SHANTY
Ralph came out of the house with a thoughtful look on his face. His armwas in a sling and he quite looked the invalid. His mother followed himto the door.
"You see, I was the wisest," spoke Mrs. Fairbanks.
"Yes, mother, you predicted that I wouldn't feel quite so spry thismorning as last night. All the same, if it wasn't for the word just sentme by the general superintendent, you would see me on the regularOverland trip."
"It wouldn't be right," dissented Mrs. Fairbanks. "Suppose your arm gaveout at a critical moment of your run?"
"I shouldn't let it," declared Ralph. "It puzzles me, though--the wordfrom headquarters."
"It was rather strange," assented his mother.
"The superintendent simply 'phoned me that I was to remain on theinvalid list for a day or two. He said he was going to Rockton, andwould be back tomorrow morning, and would expect me then at a conferenceat ten o'clock. In the meantime all I need to do, he said, was to hangaround town, show myself about the yards and the general offices, but tobe sure to wear my arm in a sling."
"He has some purpose in view in that last direction, believe me, Ralph,"said Mrs. Fairbanks.
"Yes," replied the son thoughtfully, "I'm beginning to guess out acertain system in his methods. I shouldn't wonder if something livelywere on the programme. Well, I'll try and put on the enforced vacationas the superintendent suggests. Hello, there's a fine hullaballoo!"
Ralph walked down the steps and to the street to trace the cause of agreat outcry beyond the cottage grounds. As he passed through the gatehe made out a haggard looking urchin standing on the planking of thecrossing crying as if his heart would break.
"Why, it's Ted Rollins, our little neighbor who lives over near theflats," said Ralph, recognizing the ragged and begrimed lad.
The latter was half bent over as if squinting through the cracks in thesidewalk. Then he would let out a yell of distress, dig his fingers intohis eyes, resume his looking, and wind up with a kind of frenzied dance,bewailing some direful disaster at the top of his voice. Ralphapproached him unobserved.
"Hello, there," he hailed, "what's the trouble here?"
"I've lost it!" wailed the little fellow, without looking up. "Itslipped out of my ha-a-and."
"What did?"
"A nickel."
"A nickel?"
"Yes, I earned it, and it rolled down one of those cracks in thesidewalk."
"Which one?" inquired Ralph.
"Don't know which one--boo-hoo! and say--it was for you."
For the first time the weeping lad, glancing up through his tears,recognized Ralph. He instantly dug his hand down into a pocket and begangroping there.
"What was for me?" asked Ralph, "the nickel?"
"No, not the nickel, that was for me. The note was for you, though, thatI got the nickel to fetch--that I don't get the nickel for fetching,though I fetched it," added Ted Rollins dolefully. "That's it."
The lad brought out a folded creased slip of paper wet with his tearsand grimed with contact with his fingers. He extended this to Ralph.
"For me, eh?" he inquired wonderingly.
"Yes, 'Ralph Fairbanks,' he said. He asked me if I knew Ralph Fairbanks,and I said you bet I did. 'Why,' says I, 'he's a regular friend ofmine.'"
"That's right, Ted," said Ralph.
"Then he gave me the nickel and the note."
"Who did?"
"The boy."
"What boy?"
"The one I'm telling you about. I never saw him before. He was down nearthe elevator tracks where the old switch tower shanty is, you know."
"Why, yes, I know," assented Ralph, "but I can't imagine who the notecan be from. Oh, I understand now," added Ralph, his eye brightening ashe opened the note and caught a glimpse of the signature. "Here, Ted,there's a dime for your faithfulness, and maybe you can find a chum witha big axe who will pry up a few of those sidewalk spikes, and if youfind the lost nickel you can have that, too."
"You're a capital fellow, Ralph Fairbanks," cried the delighted littleurchin. "If you ever run for president of the Great Northern, my sistersays the whole town will vote for you."
"Thank you, Ted," laughed the young railroader, "but they don't electrailroad presidents that way."
"Dad says you'll get there, anyway."
"Thank you again," said Ralph, and as Ted darted away he gave his fullattention to the note. It ran:
"Ralph Fairbanks:
"Will you please come to the place where the bearer of this note will direct you, and oblige. I have some money for you.
--Glen Palmer."
"Well, well," said Ralph in a pleased way, "this is pretty quick actionon the part of our young chicken raiser. Of course I'll go. Glen Palmeris straight, as I thought he would be. I'm curious to know how he cameout with his investment, and doubly curious to learn something aboutthat mysterious old grandfather of his."
Ralph did not need any guide to reach the elevated tracks and the oldswitch tower shanty alluded to by Ted Rollins. The spot had been a busyone before they straightened out a lot of useless curves and changed themain line a half mile farther south. The old main tracks, however, werestill used for switching and standing freights, and there were severalgrain elevators in the vicinity. It was now a remote and isolated spotso far as general traffic was concerned.
Ralph crossed over a stretch of bleak prairie, leaped a drainage ditch,and started down a siding that was used as a repair track. Just as hereached the end of a freight car he hastened his steps.
Not fifty yards distant two animated figures suddenly filled his rangeof vision. They were boys. One was Glen Palmer. The other Ralph wasamazed to recognize as Ike Slump.
Glen had a broken-off broom in one hand and a bag pretty well filledover his shoulder. He was warding off the approach of Slump, who seemedbent on pestering him from malice or robbing him for profit. Ralph ranforward to the rescue of his young protege, who was no match in strengthor size for the bully.
He was not in time to prevent a sharp climax to the scene. Glen swungthe heavy bag he carried around to deal his tormenter a blow. Slumpeither drew a knife or had one concealed up his sleeve all along. At anyrate he caught the circling bag on the fly. The knife blade met itsbulging surface and slit it woefully, so that a stream of golden grainpoured out.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself!" burst out Glen Palmer,indignantly.
"Strangers pay toll around here, or I know the reason," derided bad IkeSlump.
"Just drop that, Slump," spoke Ralph, stepping forward.
"Humph!" growled Ike, retreating a step or two and looking ratherembarrassed. "I didn't expect you."
"I see you didn't," observed Ralph. "This petty business doesn't seem toaccord very well with your high pretentions of last evening."
"He has wasted all my grain!" cried Glen, tears starting to his eyes."He said I'd have to pay toll to the gang, whatever that is, if I camearound here gathering up chicken feed, and the flagman yonder has givenme permission to sweep out all the cars after they have emptied at theelevators."
"Don't worry," said Ralph, reassuringly. "I will see to it that you arenot interfered with, that your rights are respected after this."
"Huh!" scoffed Ike, and then with a great start and in a sharp change ofvoice he shouted out, "Hello, I say, hello!"
Ike stood staring fixedly at Glen at the moment. The latter inrearranging his disordered attire for the first time had removed thebroad peaked cap he wore. The instant he caught Ike's piercing glancefixed upon him, Glen flushed and in great haste replaced the cap, quitescreening his face and turned away.
"Aha!" resumed Ike, continuing to stare at Glen. "Why, when, where--dratme!" and he struck his head with his hand, as if trying to drive outsome puzzling idea. "Say, I've seen you before. Where? I never forgetfaces. Wallop me! but I know you, and--"
Just then Slump was walloped
. The flagman at the shanty one hundred feetaway had evidently witnessed the tussle between the two boys. That hewas a friend to Glen was indisputable, for coming upon the scene frombetween two lines of freight he pounced on Slump, whacking him smartlyabout his legs with his flag stick.
"You pestering loafer, out of here," he shouted, "or I'll break everybone in your body," and Slump ran down the track precipitately.
He paused only once, at a safe distance from pursuit. It was to shakehis fist at the watchman, then to wave it in a kind of threateningtriumph at Ralph, and then to make a speaking trumpet of his hand and toyell through it.
"I know that boy, don't you forget it, and I'll see you later."
Ralph wondered a good deal at this demonstration. Then he turned toGlen.
"Why," he exclaimed, noticing that the face of the latter was as whiteas chalk and that he was trembling all over. "What's the matter, Glen?"
"I--that--is that fellow upset me," stammered Glen, failing to meetRalph's scrutinizing glance.
"Something more than that, Glen," insisted Ralph. "You act half scaredto death. Do you know Ike Slump?"
"No."
"Did you ever meet him before?"
"Never," declared Glen strenuously.
Ralph had to be satisfied with this. Glen turned from him as if to hidesome emotion or embarrassment. He began tying up his bag so as to coverthe slit made in it by Slump's knife and scooped up the scattered grain.
"Wait till I get this gathered up and I want to talk with you," he said.
A new figure came lounging leisurely down the track as the watchmanproceeded to his shanty. Ralph recognized Dan Lacey, a ne'er-do-well whohad tried about every department of railroad service inside of two yearsand had failed signally in every attempt.
He was a good-natured, indolent fellow, perfectly harmless and generallypopular. He halted in front of Ralph with a speculative glance at GlenPalmer.
"Howdy, Fairbanks," he hailed. "Say, pet of yours yonder, I understand."
"Who--Glen Palmer?"
"Yes, that's his name."
"He seems to be a fine young fellow I helped out a little."
"Always doing that. Know him pretty well?"
"Hardly at all."
"Well," drawled Lacey taking in Glen with a continuous analyzing glance,"he's a cracker jack."
"What do you mean, Lacey?"
"Telegraphy. I've seen some pretty swell operators in my time, but thatkid--say, believe me, Fairbanks, he's got the last one of them backedclear off the board."
Ralph, the Train Dispatcher; Or, The Mystery of the Pay Car Page 8
