"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."

"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 started from 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 industry with Fogg," decided the young railroader. "He's tidying up the place. It needs it bad enough," and Ralph glanced critically at the disordered yard.

n.o.body 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," he said, 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.

CHAPTER X

FIRE!

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 hoa.r.s.ely, 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 amazing declaration of the young railroader. It seemed as if for a moment he was fairly petrified at the unexpected disclosure of the n.o.ble 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 semaph.o.r.e, 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 ma.s.s 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.

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 k.n.o.bs, 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 rea.s.suringly. "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."