As he drew near to the express shed, Bart noticed an old armchair out on its platform.
A very stout man in his shirt sleeves sat in this, smoking a pipe.
He got up and waddled around restlessly. Bart noticed that he approached the door of the express office on tiptoe. He acted scared, for, bending his ear to listen, he retreated precipitately. Then he stood stock-still, staring stupidly at the building.
He gave a nervous start as Bart came up behind him—quite a jump, in fact. Bart, studying his flabby, uneasy face, wondered what was the matter with the man.
"Hello!" jerked out the Cardysville express agent. "Sort of startled me."
"Are you Mr. Pope?" inquired Bart.
"Yes, that's me," assented the other. "Stranger here? looking for me?"
"I am," answered Bart. "My name is Stirling. I work at the express office at Pleasantville."
"Oh, yes, I've heard of you," said Peter Pope. "The express inspector wrote me about you. He said you was a young kid, sort of green in the business, who might drop in on me to get some points on the business."
"Quite so," nodded Bart with a side smile, "catching on," as the phrase goes, and at once falling in with the way the inspector was working matters. "We can't learn too much about the express business, you know, and I thought that by comparing notes with you we might dig out something of mutual benefit."