“If there’s any man, boy or child in this doghouse who says that young Fairbanks isn’t a crackerjack, let him step right up here and take his medicine!” vaunted Lemuel Fogg, playfully, but with a proud look of admiration at the expert young engineer.
“It’s the best part of it to know that you fellows mean every word you say and believe in me,” observed Ralph. “Your encouragement and influence have boosted me up to the Overland Express all right—I’ll try and never make you ashamed of having backed me.” 210
Ralph Fairbanks felt good and showed it. His friends shared in his emotions and sentiments, and that made the present occasion doubly glad and welcome. It was one of those rare moments, coming only once in a while, when Ralph and his comrades had an idle half hour to chat and compliment each other in the doghouse.
The Overland Express had become an established feature of the Great Northern—as little Torchy had phrased it, “a howling success.” A week had gone by, and now, seated in the midst of his loyal friends, Ralph felt that he had made good on a promotion that placed him at the top notch of engineering service.
It was a big thing for a youth to gain that high distinction—engineer of the Overland Express. Looking back over the active, energetic career that had led up to this, however, Ralph realized that the climax had been reached a step at a time through patience, perseverance and genuine hard work. It was a proof to him that any person following discipline and having as a motto precision and finality, was bound to succeed. It was a most enjoyable breathing spell to realize that all the anxiety, dash and novelty of the experimental trips over the Mountain Division were past, and he now felt that he knew the route and all its details perfectly. 211
Ralph had found time to do some thinking about his friends the past day or two. He had seen two of them, for Van Sherwin and little Limpy Joe had come down from the Short Line, and had spent a pleasant day at the Fairbanks home. Archie Graham, too, had put in an appearance. The young inventor looked shamefaced and distressed when he admitted all that Ralph had guessed concerning the patent bellows—draft improvement for locomotives.
“It only worked the wrong way,” explained Archie; “next time––”
“Next time try it on some other railroad, Archie,” advised Ralph. “They’re watching for you with rifles down at the Great Northern roundhouse.”
“Huh!” snorted Archie contemptuously; “they’ll be sorry when I strike some real big thing and another line gets it. Now then, I’ve got something brand new—the rocket danger signal.”
“Go right ahead experimenting with it, only choose a spot where you won’t hurt any one,” advised Ralph. “You’re all right, Archie,” declared the young railroader, slapping his comrade appreciatively on the shoulder, “only you are too ambitious. I have no doubt that you will some day hit something tangible. It’s a long, patient road, though—this inventing things.” 212