Chapter VIII: The Old Switch Shanty

Ralph came out of the house with a thoughtful look on his face. His arm was in a sling and he quite looked the invalid. His mother followed him to the door.

"You see, I was the wisest," spoke Mrs. Fairbanks.

"Yes, mother, you predicted that I wouldn't feel quite so spry this morning as last night. All the same, if it wasn't for the word just sent me by the general superintendent, you would see me on the regular Overland trip."

"It wouldn't be right," dissented Mrs. Fairbanks. "Suppose your arm gave out at a critical moment of your run?"

"I shouldn't let it," declared Ralph. "It puzzles me, though--the word from headquarters."

"It was rather strange," assented his mother.

"The superintendent simply 'phoned me that I was to remain on the invalid list for a day or two. He said he was going to Rockton, and would be back tomorrow morning, and would expect me then at a conference at ten o'clock. In the meantime all I need to do, he said, was to hang around town, show myself about the yards and the general offices, but to be 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 a certain system in his methods. I shouldn't wonder if something lively were on the programme. Well, I'll try and put on the enforced vacation as the superintendent suggests. Hello, there's a fine hullaballoo!"

Ralph walked down the steps and to the street to trace the cause of a great outcry beyond the cottage grounds. As he passed through the gate he made out a haggard looking urchin standing on the planking of the crossing crying as if his heart would break.

"Why, it's Ted Rollins, our little neighbor who lives over near the flats," said Ralph, recognizing the ragged and begrimed lad.

The latter was half bent over as if squinting through the cracks in the sidewalk. Then he would let out a yell of distress, dig his fingers into his eyes, resume his looking, and wind up with a kind of frenzied dance, bewailing some direful disaster at the top of his voice. Ralph approached him unobserved.

"Hello, there," he hailed, "what's the trouble here?"

"I've lost it!" wailed the little fellow, without looking up. "It slipped 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 the sidewalk."

"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 began groping there.

"What was for me?" asked Ralph, "the nickel?"

"No, not the nickel, that was for me. The note was for you, though, that I 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 tears and 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 of mine.'"

"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 near the elevator tracks where the old switch tower shanty is, you know."

"Why, yes, I know," assented Ralph, "but I can't imagine who the note can be from. Oh, I understand now," added Ralph, his eye brightening as he 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 with a big axe who will pry up a few of those sidewalk spikes, and if you find the lost nickel you can have that, too."

"You're a capital fellow, Ralph Fairbanks," cried the delighted little urchin. "If you ever run for president of the Great Northern, my sister says the whole town will vote for you."

"Thank you, Ted," laughed the young railroader, "but they don't elect railroad presidents that way."

"Dad says you'll get there, anyway."

"Thank you again," said Ralph, and as Ted darted away he gave his full attention 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 action on the part of our young chicken raiser. Of course I'll go. Glen Palmer is straight, as I thought he would be. I'm curious to know how he came out with his investment, and doubly curious to learn something about that mysterious old grandfather of his."

Ralph did not need any guide to reach the elevated tracks and the old switch tower shanty alluded to by Ted Rollins. The spot had been a busy one before they straightened out a lot of useless curves and changed the main line a half mile farther south. The old main tracks, however, were still used for switching and standing freights, and there were several grain elevators in the vicinity. It was now a remote and isolated spot so 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 he reached the end of a freight car he hastened his steps.

Not fifty yards distant two animated figures suddenly filled his range of vision. They were boys. One was Glen Palmer. The other Ralph was amazed to recognize as Ike Slump.

Glen had a broken-off broom in one hand and a bag pretty well filled over his shoulder. He was warding off the approach of Slump, who seemed bent on pestering him from malice or robbing him for profit. Ralph ran forward to the rescue of his young protege, who was no match in strength or size for the bully.

He was not in time to prevent a sharp climax to the scene. Glen swung the heavy bag he carried around to deal his tormenter a blow. Slump either drew a knife or had one concealed up his sleeve all along. At any rate he caught the circling bag on the fly. The knife blade met its bulging surface and slit it woefully, so that a stream of golden grain poured 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 Ike Slump.

"Just drop that, Slump," spoke Ralph, stepping forward.

"Humph!" growled Ike, retreating a step or two and looking rather embarrassed. "I didn't expect you."

"I see you didn't," observed Ralph. "This petty business doesn't seem to accord 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 came around here gathering up chicken feed, and the flagman yonder has given me permission to sweep out all the cars after they have emptied at the elevators."

"Don't worry," said Ralph, reassuringly. "I will see to it that you are not interfered with, that your rights are respected after this."

"Huh!" scoffed Ike, and then with a great start and in a sharp change of voice he shouted out, "Hello, I say, hello!"

Ike stood staring fixedly at Glen at the moment. The latter in rearranging his disordered attire for the first time had removed the broad peaked cap he wore. The instant he caught Ike's piercing glance fixed upon him, Glen flushed and in great haste replaced the cap, quite screening his face and turned away.

"Aha!" resumed Ike, continuing to stare at Glen. "Why, when, where--drat me!" and he struck his head with his hand, as if trying to drive out some puzzling idea. "Say, I've seen you before. Where? I never forget faces. Wallop me! but I know you, and--"

Just then Slump was walloped. The flagman at the shanty one hundred feet away had evidently witnessed the tussle between the two boys. That he was a friend to Glen was indisputable, for coming upon the scene from between two lines of freight he pounced on Slump, whacking him smartly about his legs with his flag stick.

"You pestering loafer, out of here," he shouted, "or I'll break every bone in your body," and Slump ran down the track precipitately.

He paused only once, at a safe distance from pursuit. It was to shake his fist at the watchman, then to wave it in a kind of threatening triumph at Ralph, and then to make a speaking trumpet of his hand and to yell 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 to Glen.

"Why," he exclaimed, noticing that the face of the latter was as white as chalk and that he was trembling all over. "What's the matter, Glen?"

"I--that--is that fellow upset me," stammered Glen, failing to meet Ralph's scrutinizing glance.

"Something more than that, Glen," insisted Ralph. "You act half scared to 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 hide some emotion or embarrassment. He began tying up his bag so as to cover the 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 watchman proceeded to his shanty. Ralph recognized Dan Lacey, a ne'er-do-well who had tried about every department of railroad service inside of two years and had failed signally in every attempt.

He was a good-natured, indolent fellow, perfectly harmless and generally popular. He halted in front of Ralph with a speculative glance at Glen Palmer.

"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 that kid--say, believe me, Fairbanks, he's got the last one of them backed clear off the board."