Ralph proceeded to get everything in order for the prospective run, but everything was so handy, it was a pleasure to contemplate his duties.

Just before train time a boy came running up to the engine. He was an old schoolmate and a neighbor.

"Ralph! Ralph!" he called breathlessly to the young fireman. "Your mother sent me with a letter that she got at the post-office."

"For me? Thank you, Ned," said Ralph.

He glanced at the address. The handwriting was unfamiliar. There was no time left to inspect the enclosure, so Ralph slipped the letter in his pocket and proceeded to attend to the fire.

He quite forgot the letter after that, finding the duties of a first-cla.s.s fireman to be extremely arduous. There was plenty of coal to shovel, and he was pretty well tired out when they reached the city terminus.

"There, lad," said Griscom proudly, as they steamed into the depot on time to a second. "This makes me feel like old times once more."

There was a wait of four hours in the city, during which period the train hands were at liberty to spend their time as they chose. Griscom took Ralph to a neat little hotel, where they had a meal and the privileges of a reading room. It was there that Ralph suddenly remembered the letter sent to him that morning by his mother.

As he opened it he was somewhat puzzled, for the signature was strange to him. The missive stated that the writer "was acting for a former resident of Stanley Junction who wished to settle up certain obligations, if a satisfactory arrangement could be made." Further the writer, as agent of the party in question, would meet Ralph at a certain hotel at a certain time and impart to him his instructions.

The young fireman was about to consult Griscom as to this mysterious missive, but found the old engineer engaged in conversation with some fellow railroaders, and, leaving the place, he proceeded to the hotel named in the letter.

He was an hour ahead of the time appointed in the communication and waited patiently for developments, thinking a good deal and wondering what would come of the affair.

Finally a man came into the place, acting as if he was looking for somebody. He was an under-sized person with a mean and crafty face. He glanced at Ralph, hesitated somewhat, and then advanced towards him.

"Is your name Fairbanks?" he questioned.

"Yes," answered Ralph promptly.

"Wrote you a letter."

"I received one, yes," said Ralph. "May I ask its meaning?"

"Well, there is nothing gained by beating about the bush. I represent, as an attorney, Mr. Gasper Farrington."

"I thought that when I read your letter," said Ralph.

"Then we understand each other," pursued the attorney. "Now then, see here, Farrington wants to do the square thing by you."

"He ought to," answered Ralph. "He owes us twenty thousand dollars and he has got to pay it."

"Oh, yes, you can undoubtedly collect it in time," admitted the man.

"But why all this mystery?" asked Ralph abruptly. "In an important matter like this, it appears to me some regular attorney might consult our attorneys at Stanley Junction."

"Farrington won't do that. He don't feel the kindest in the world towards your people. Here is his simple proposition: This affair is to be settled up quietly between the parties directly interested. I am to give you certain papers for your mother to sign. You get them attended to. You will be later advised where and when to deliver them and get your money."

"Twenty thousand dollars?" said Ralph.

"Yes."

Ralph did not like the looks of things, but he kept his own counsel, and simply said:

"Very well, give me the doc.u.ments you speak of and I will act upon them as my mother decides."

"And keep the business strictly to yourselves."

This looked reasonable to Ralph. He knew that Farrington felt deeply the disgrace already attached to his name for past misdeeds of which he had been guilty.

"We have no desire to humiliate Mr. Farrington any further," he said.

"We simply insist upon our rights. This strikes me as a mysterious and uncalled-for method of settling up a claim purely business-like in its character."

"That is the way of old Farrington, you know," suggested the man, with a coa.r.s.e laugh.

"Yes, he seems to be given to dark ways," said Ralph.

"Then it is all arranged?" questioned the "lawyer" eagerly.

"So far as it can be arranged for the time being."

"Very well, you shall hear from us in a few days."

Ralph left the hotel with one fixed conviction in his mind--that old Gasper Farrington was up to some new scheme and that it would be wise to look out for him.

CHAPTER X

THE SPECIAL

Within a week the young fireman of the Limited Mail was in full swing as a trusted and valued employe of the Great Northern. Engineer Griscom had got the time schedule down to a system of which he was proud. They made successful runs without a break or accident, and Ralph loved the life for its variety, experience and promise of sure promotion.

The doc.u.ments given to him for his mother by the agent of Gasper Farrington in the city were apparently all regular and business-like.

They covered receipt for twenty thousand dollars, designating certain numbered bonds indicated, but one phrase which exonerated the village magnate from blame or crooked dealing in the affair Ralph did not at all like. He believed that there was some specious scheme under this matter and he awaited developments.

One bl.u.s.tering night he and Griscom had just run the engine into the roundhouse, when Tim Forgan, the foreman, came hastening towards them, a paper fluttering in his hand and accompanied by a young fellow about twenty years of age. The latter was handsome and manly-looking, very well dressed, and Ralph liked him on sight.

"The very men," spoke Forgan, showing an unusual excitement of manner.

"Griscom, Fairbanks, let me introduce you to Mr. Trevor."

Engineer and fireman bowed, but the young man insisted on shaking hands cordially with his new acquaintances.

"Glad to meet you, gentlemen," he said briskly. "I have heard nothing but regrets as to your absence and praises for your ability in the railroad line from Forgan here. Tell your story, Mr. Forgan. You know time is money to me, just at present," and the speaker consulted an elegant timepiece in a hurried, anxious way.

"Why, it's just this," said Forgan. "Mr. Trevor, who is a nephew of the president of the road, came to me with a telegram directing us to send him through to the city on the quickest time on record."

"A special, eh?" said Griscom, eyeing the young man speculatively.

"About that, only there is no time to waste in making up a train, and he inclines to riding on the locomotive. The train dispatcher will give clear tracks to terminus. We were just picking out an engine when you arrived. How is it, Griscom?"