"I fancy that is a dead issue," said the lawyer, with a dry smile. "Very well, there are your papers."
He handed Ralph an unsealed envelope. Ralph glanced inside.
Gasper Farrington had been forced to swallow a bitter dose of humiliation and defeat.
The inclosures were the Farwell Gibson forged note, and a deed of release which gave to Ralph's mother her homestead, free and clear.
[CHAPTER XXXV--CONCLUSION]
Ralph stepped across the turntable entrance to the roundhouse at Stanley Junction just as the one o'clock whistles were blowing.
It was like coming home again. Limpy, shining up a locomotive headlight, gave a croak of welcome, jumped down from the pilot, and slapped his greasy, blackened hand into that of his young favorite with genuine fervor.
The engineers, firemen and extras in the dog house called out the usual variety of cheery chaff, but all pleasant and interested.
"This is a great place to find friends!" smiled Ralph, and then hurried his steps, for the roundhouse foreman at that moment appeared at the door of his little office.
"This way, Fairbanks," he hailed, quite eagerly. "Well," as he ushered Ralph into the grimy sanctum, "back again, I see?"