“Ralph! Ralph!” he called breathlessly to the young fireman. “Your mother sent me with a letter that she got at the post-office.”
“For me? Thank you, Ned,” said Ralph.
He glanced at the address. The handwriting was unfamiliar. There was no time left to inspect the enclosure, so Ralph slipped the letter in his pocket and proceeded to attend to the fire.
He quite forgot the letter after that, finding the duties of a first-class fireman to be extremely arduous. There was plenty of coal to shovel, and 69 he was pretty well tired out when they reached the city terminus.
“There, lad,” said Griscom proudly, as they steamed into the depot on time to a second. “This makes me feel like old times once more.”
There was a wait of four hours in the city, during which period the train hands were at liberty to spend their time as they chose. Griscom took Ralph to a neat little hotel, where they had a meal and the privileges of a reading room. It was there that Ralph suddenly remembered the letter sent to him that morning by his mother.
As he opened it he was somewhat puzzled, for the signature was strange to him. The missive stated that the writer “was acting for a former resident of Stanley Junction who wished to settle up certain obligations, if a satisfactory arrangement could be made.” Further the writer, as agent of the party in question, would meet Ralph at a certain hotel at a certain time and impart to him his instructions.
The young fireman was about to consult Griscom as to this mysterious missive, but found the old engineer engaged in conversation with some fellow railroaders, and, leaving the place, he proceeded to the hotel named in the letter.
He was an hour ahead of the time appointed in the communication and waited patiently for 70 developments, thinking a good deal and wondering what would come of the affair.
Finally a man came into the place, acting as if he was looking for somebody. He was an under-sized person with a mean and crafty face. He glanced at Ralph, hesitated somewhat, and then advanced towards him.