Ralph of the Roundhouse; Or, Bound to Become a Railroad Man
Frank V. Webster
Produced by Al Haines.
RALPH STEPPED OVER HIS RECUMBENT COMPANION AND PLACED HISHAND ON THE LEVER.]
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RALPH OF THE ROUNDHOUSE
OR
BOUND TO BECOME A RAILROAD MAN
BY
ALLEN CHAPMAN
NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS
Made in the United States of America
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Copyright, 1906, by THE MERSHON COMPANY
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER I--THE DAYLIGHT EXPRESS CHAPTER II--WAKING UP CHAPTER III--A LOST BALL CHAPTER IV--IKE SLUMP'S DINNER PAIL CHAPTER V--OPPORTUNITY CHAPTER VI--THE MASTER MECHANIC CHAPTER VII--AT THE ROUNDHOUSE CHAPTER VIII--THE OLD FACTORY CHAPTER IX--AN UNEXPECTED GUEST CHAPTER X--THE MYSTERIOUS LETTER CHAPTER XI--ON DUTY CHAPTER XII--IKE SLUMP'S REVENGE CHAPTER XIII--MAKING HIS WAY CHAPTER XIV--RALPH FAIRBANKS' REQUEST CHAPTER XV--"VAN" CHAPTER XVI--FACE TO FACE CHAPTER XVII--THE BATTLE BY THE TRACKS CHAPTER XVIII--A NAME TO CONJURE BY? CHAPTER XIX--IKE SLUMP'S FRIENDS CHAPTER XX--THE HIDE-OUT CHAPTER XXI--A FREE RIDE CHAPTER XXII--BEHIND TIME CHAPTER XXIII--BARDON, THE INSPECTOR CHAPTER XXIV--A NEW ENEMY CHAPTER XXV--DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND CHAPTER XXVI--A ROVING COMMISSION CHAPTER XXVII--RECALLED TO LIFE CHAPTER XXVIII--MYSTERY CHAPTER XXIX--A RIVAL RAILROAD CHAPTER XXX--THE RIGHT OF WAY CHAPTER XXXI--A REMARKABLE CONFESSION CHAPTER XXXII--FOUND CHAPTER XXXIII--IKE SLUMP'S RAFT CHAPTER XXXIV--VICTORY! CHAPTER XXXV--CONCLUSION
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RALPH OF THE ROUNDHOUSE
CHAPTER I--THE DAYLIGHT EXPRESS
The Daylight Express rolled up to the depot at Stanley Junction, ontime, circling past the repair shops, freight yard and roundhouse, athing of life and beauty.
Stanley Junction had become a wide-awake town of some importance sincethe shops had been moved there, and when a second line took it in as apassing point, the old inhabitants pronounced the future of the Junctionfully determined.
Engine No. 6, with its headlight shining like a piece of pure crystal,its metal trimmings furbished up bright and natty-looking, seemed tounderstand that it was the model of the road, and sailed majestically toa repose that had something of dignity and grandeur to it.
The usual crowd that kept tab on arriving trains lounged on theplatform, and watched the various passengers alight.
A brisk, bright-faced young fellow glided from their midst, cleared anobstructing truck with a clever spring, stood ready to greet thelocomotive and express car as they parted company from the passengercoaches, and ran thirty feet along the siding to where the freight-shedsstood.
He appeared to know everybody, and to be a general favorite with everyone, for the brakeman at the coach-end air brake gave him a cheery: "Hi,there, kid!" gaunt John Griscom, the engineer, flung him a grim butpleased nod of recognition, and the fireman, discovering him, yelled ashrill: "All aboard, now!"
The young fellow turned to face the latter with a whirl and struck anattitude, as if entirely familiar with jolly Sam Cooper's warnings.
For the latter, reaching for a row of golden pippins stowed on his oilshelf, contributed by some bumpkin admirer down the line, seized thebiggest and poised it for a fling.
"Here she goes, Ralph Fairbanks!" he chuckled.
"Let her come!" cried back Ralph, and--clip! he cut the missile's careershort by the latest approved baseball tactics.
Ralph pocketed the apple with a gay laugh, and was at the door of theexpress section of the car as it slid back and the messenger's faceappeared.
The agent had come out of his shed. He glanced over an iron chest andsome crated stuff shoved forward by the messenger, and then, running hiseye over the bills of lading handed him by the latter, said briskly:
"You will not be needed this time, Ralph."
"All right, Mr. More."
"Nothing but some transfer freight and the bank delivery--that's myspecial, you know. Be around for the 5.11, though."
"Sure," nodded Ralph Fairbanks, looking pleased at the brisk dismissal,like a boy on hand for work, but, that failing, with abundant otherresources at hand to employ and enjoy the time.
With a cheery hail to the baggage master as he appeared on the scene,Ralph rounded the cow-catcher, intent on a short cut across the tracks.His appearance had been actuated by business reasons strictly, but,business not materializing, he was quite as practical and eager onanother tack.
Ever since vacation began, three weeks previous, Ralph had made twotrips daily to the depot, on hand to meet the arriving 10.15 and 5.11trains.
This had been at the solicitation of the express agent. StanleyJunction was not a very large receiving point, but usually there weredaily several packages to deliver. When these were not for the bank orbusiness houses in the near center of the town, but for individuals, theagent employed Ralph to deliver them, allowing him to retain the tencents fee for charges.
Sometimes Ralph picked up as high as fifty cents a day, the average wasabout half that amount, but it was welcome pocket money. Occasionally,too, some odd job for waiting passengers or railroad employes would comeup. It gave Ralph spending money with which to enjoy his vacation, and,besides, he liked the work.
Especially work around the railroad. What live boy in Stanley Junctiondid not--but then Ralph, as the express agent often said, "took torailroading like a duck to water."
It was a natural heritage. Ralph's father had been a first-class,all-around railroad man, and his son felt a justifiable pride inboasting that he was one of the pioneers who had made the railroad atStanley Junction a possibility.
"Home, a quick bite or two, and then for the baseball game," said Ralphbriskly, as he ran his eye across the network of rails, and beyond themto the waving tree tops and the village green. Preparing to make a runfor it, Ralph suddenly halted.
A grimed repair man, tapping the wheels of the coaches, just then jerkedback his hammer with a vivid:
"Hi, you!"
Ralph discerned that the man was not addressing him, for his eyes werestaringly fixed under the trucks.
"Let me out!" sounded a muffled voice.
Ralph was interested, as there struggled from the cindered roadbed anerratic form. It was that of a boy about his own age. He judged thisfrom the dress and figure, although one was tattered, and the otherstrained, crippled and bent. The face was a criss-cross streak of dust,oil and cinders.
"A stowaway!" yelled the repair man, excitedly waving his hammer."Schmitt! Schmitt! this way!"
The depot officer came running around the end of the train at the call.Ralph had eyes only for the forlorn figure that had so suddenly comeinto action in the light of day.
He could read the lad's story readily. The last run of No. 6 was of tenmiles. There was no doubt but that for this distance, if not for agreater one, the stowaway had been a "dead-head" passenger, perilouslyclinging to the brace bars, or wedged against the trucks under themiddle coach.
The dust and grime must have half-blinded him, the roar have deafened,for he staggered about now in an aimless, distracted way, hobbling andwincing as he tried to get his cramped muscles into normal pla
y.
"What you doing?" roared the old watchman, on a run, and waving his clubthreateningly.
"I've done it!" muttered the boy dolefully. He kept hobbling about toget his tensioned nerves unlimbered, edging away from the approachingwatchman as fast as he could.
"Show me!" he panted, appealingly to Ralph,
The latter understood the predicament and wish. He moved his hand verymeaningly, and the stowaway seemed to comprehend, for he glided to wherea heap of ties barricaded a dead-end track. Rubbing the blinding dirtfrom his eyes, he cleared the heap, dropped on the other side, and randown a narrow lane bounded on one side by a brick wall and on the otherby a ten-foot picket fence.
"Third one in a week!" growled the watchman. "Got to stop! Against thelaw, and second one lost a foot!"
Ralph moved along, crossed four tracks and a freight train blockaded,and kept on down the straight rails. The stowaway had passed from hismind. Now, glancing toward the fence, he saw the lad limping down thelane.
The stowaway saw him, and coming to a halt grasped two of the fencebars, and peered and shouted at him.
"Want me?" asked Ralph, approaching. He saw that the stowaway was inbad shape, for he clung to the fence as if it rested him. He had notyet gotten all the cricks out of his bones.
"It was a tough job," muttered the boy. "It took grit! Say, tell mesomething, will you?"
Ralph nodded. The boy rubbed the knuckle of one hand across his coat towipe off the blood of an abrasion, and groped in a pocket.
"Where is that?" he asked, bringing to light an envelope, and holding itslantingly for Ralph's inspection. "Can you tell me?"
"Why," said Ralph, with a start--"let me look at that!"
"No," demurred the other cautiously. "It's near enough to read. I wantto find that person."
"It's my name," said Ralph, quickly and with considerable wonderment."Give it to me."
"I guess not!" snapped the stowaway. "I don't know who John Fairbanksis, but I know enough to be sure you ain't him."
"No, he was my father. Climb over the fence. I don't quite understandthis, and I want you to explain."
The stowaway sized up the fence, wincing as he lifted one foot, andthen, with a disgusted exclamation, turned abruptly and broke into arun.
Ralph saw that the cause of this action was the watchman, who had comeinto view through a doorway in the brick wall, and had started a newpursuit of the boy.
He was a husky, clumsy individual, and had counted on heading off orcreeping unawares on the fugitive, but the latter, with a start, soonoutdistanced him, and was lost to Ralph's view where the lane broadenedout into the railroad scrap yards.
Ralph stood undecided for a minute or two, and then somewhat reluctantlyresumed his way.
"He'll find us, if he's got that letter to deliver," he concluded. "Iwonder what it can be? From somebody who doesn't know father is dead,it seems."
Ralph neared home in the course of ten minutes, to save time crossinglots to reach by its side door the plain, but comfortable looking,neatly kept cottage that had been his shelter since childhood.
It was going to be a busy day with him, he had planned, and he flung offhis coat with a business air of hurried preparation for a change oftoilet.
Ten feet from the door through which he intended to bolt as usual withall the impetuosity of a real flesh and blood boy, on the jump everywaking minute of his existence, Ralph came to an abrupt halt.
He expected to find his mother alone, and was ready to tell her aboutthe stowaway episode and the letter.
But voices echoed from the little sitting room, and the firstintelligible words his ear caught, spoken in a gruff snarl, made Ralph'seyes flash fire, his fists clenched, and his breath came quick.
"Very well, Widow Fairbanks," fell distinctly on Ralph's hearing,"what's the matter with that good-for-nothing son of yours going to workand paying the honest debts of the family?"
