There had at first been considerable interest for Ralph in the remarkable statement of Zeph Dallas that the original of the photograph of Marvin Clark, the son of the railroad president, was his mysterious employer. Further than that involuntary admission of his erratic friend, however, Ralph could not persuade Zeph to go. Zeph declared that he was bound by a compact of the greatest secrecy. He insisted that there could be no possibility of a mistake in his recognition of the picture.
Ralph told him that a friend was very anxious to find his employer, and told Zeph who his friend was. The latter became serious, and acted quite 174 disturbed when he learned that it was Fred Porter, whom he had met several times.
“I’d like to tell you a whole lot, Ralph, but I can’t do it!” Zeph had burst out. “Say, one thing, though; I’m going to tell my employer about Fred Porter being so anxious to see him, and you can write to Porter and tell him that his friend is all right and safe, if you want to. What’s that address—I may get around to Porter myself.”
Ralph told Zeph. That same evening the latter left Stanley Junction, and Ralph had not heard from him since, nor did he receive word from Fred. Temporarily, at least, Zeph, Fred and the railroad president’s son, Marvin Clark, the “Canaries” and all the peculiar mystery surrounding them, seemed to have drifted out of the life of the young engineer.
No. 999 was about ready to start on her daily trip when the stranger designated as Lord Montague had appeared. As he stood against the tender bar and seemed to commune with himself on the crudity of American locomotive cabs, Ralph leaned from the window and hailed a friend.
“I say, Graham,” he observed, “you seem particularly active and restless this morning.”
Ralph had reason for the remark. The young inventor had been very little care to his sponsor and friend during the past week. Given free 175 access to the roundhouse, Archie had just about lived there. Quiet and inoffensive, he at first had been a butt for the jokes of the wipers and the extras, but his good-natured patience disarmed those who harmlessly made fun of him, and those who maliciously persecuted him had one warning from his sledge-hammer fists, and left him alone afterwards.
On this especial morning Archie was stirred with an unusual animation. Ralph noticed this when he first came down to the roundhouse. The young inventor hung around the locomotive suspiciously. He even rode on the pilot of No. 999 to the depot, and for the past five minutes he had paced restlessly up and down the platform as though the locomotive held some peculiar fascination for him. As he now came up to the cab at Ralph’s hail, his eye ran over the locomotive in the most interested way in the world, and Ralph wondered why.
“Call me, Fairbanks?” mumbled Archie, and Ralph could not catch his eye.
“I did, Graham,” responded Ralph. “What’s stirring you?”