"They'll have a fine walk back here in this storm!"
"I was going to suggest," said Bart, taking half a dollar from his pocket, "that you might hire some boy to run the hand car back to the quarry."
"I can do that," answered the station agent.
Number 18 came sailing down the rails. As she slowed up, everyone on duty from the fireman to the brakeman was on the lookout for the cause of the unusual stop.
The conductor jumped off and ran up to the station agent, and while the latter was busy explaining the situation Bart hammered on the door of the express car.
"Why it's Stirling!" cried old Ben Travers, the veteran express messenger, sliding back the door.
"You're right, Mr. Travers," assented Bart. "Here's a special and urgent. Get it aboard before the conductor comes up and jumps all over me for stopping the train."
Travers popped down in a lively fashion. They hoisted the trunk together and sent it spinning into the car.
"Cedar Lake, make a sure delivery, Mr. Travers," directed Bart. "Here, put your manifesto on that receipt, will you?" and Bart drew the slip of paper he had written on in the depot from his pocket.
The conductor, a pompous, self-contained old fellow, started towards Bart to haul him over the coals, but Bart wisely walked farther down the platform, the conductor gave the go-ahead signal and shook his fist sternly at Bart, while the latter with a gay, relieved laugh waved him back a cheery, courteous good-by.