“A section gang hand! Believe me, that’s some job,” said Ralph, in wonder.
“Somebody has been doing some reefing down there, and Mr. Adair put me wise to it. Eh? You don’t know what ‘reefing’ is?”
“No,” admitted the dispatcher.
“It’s when fellows get a chance to open cases and crates in transit, remove the goods, fill ’em up with rocks and rubbish, and send ’em on to the consignees. It was a pretty job, too. I didn’t find out who did it.”
“What? A failure to your account?” laughed Ralph, knowing how Zeph prided himself upon carrying through every little job the chief detective gave him to handle.
“Not a failure yet,” mumbled Zeph. “’Tain’t finished.”
“Then it brought you back here to Rockton?”
“Nothing like that. There was an accident on our section and we got over-time work last night. We had just got the tracks clear when this new Midnight Flyer came through. Say! who’s handling the throttle on that big engine?”
“Old Byron Marks.”
“Wow! That antediluvian pill?”