Ralph recited his experience of the past four hours, and Forgan hastened his steps as the narration developed the necessity of sharp, urgent action.
"Fairbanks, you are a trump!" commended Forgan, as the story was all told. "I'll leave you here. You get home, into dry clothes, and have your hurt attended to. You had better take the sick-list benefits for a day or two. Good-night--till I have something more definite to say to you."
A dismissal did not suit Ralph at all. It looked like crowding him out of an exciting and interesting game only half-finished.
"I might help you some further," he began, but Forgan interrupted him with the words:
"You've done the real work, Fairbanks, and neither of us will care to muddle in with the details of arrest. I shall put the matter directly in the hands of the road detective, Matthewson. I am sorry for his father's sake if Ike Slump gets caught in the net, but he deserves it fully, and I can't stop to risk the interests of the railway company."
Ralph went home. As he expected, his mother was waiting up for him. She was not the kind of a woman to faint or get hysterical at the sight of a little blood, but she was anxious and trembling as she helped Ralph to get into comfortable trim.
"Don't worry, mother," said Ralph. "This is probably the end of trouble with the Ike Slump complication."
"I always fear an enemy, Ralph," sighed the widow. "It seems as if you are fated to have them at every step. I keep thinking day and night about Gasper Farrington's unmanly threat."
"Mother," said Ralph earnestly, "I am trying to do right, am I not?"
"Oh, Ralph--never a boy better!"