“And never will have again, and you’ve seen 72 the last signs of the dirty stuff on me. I’m going home to make a new start.”
“Heaven bless you in your new resolution, Mr. Fogg!” cried Ralph, his own tones none too steady.
“I’ll—I’ll have something to say to you after we get home,” continued Fogg. “Just leave me alone till then.”
Something was working on the mind of the fireman, this was very plain—something for good, Ralph fervently hoped. The young engineer took his cue promptly. During all the trip to Stanley Junction he avoided all conversation except commonplace routine remarks. Up to the time of leaving Bridgeport Ralph had waited expectantly for some sign of the youth he had known as Marvin Clark. Clark or Porter, his new acquaintance did not put in an appearance, nor did Dave Bissell return.
“Dave did not succeed in finding him,” decided Ralph, as No. 999 started up. “I’m sorry.” Dave had been pretty positive as to the identity of his cousin, and the elusive actions of his relative seemed to verify his recognition.
“Traveling under false colors, I fear,” reflected the young engineer. “A pretty bold and difficult imposture, I should think. Are his credentials false or stolen? But how to explain his motive? 73 He doesn’t like railroading, and the system and the vouchers he is at so much trouble to get and preserve make this business decidedly mysterious. If it wasn’t for those features, I would feel it my duty to report the affair and notify the real Marvin Clark, if there is one.”
Ralph had both mind and hands full during the trip. As to Fogg, he went straight about his duties, grimly silent and mechanically. As the fire and vim of stimulation died down, Ralph could see that it was with the most exhaustive effort that his fireman kept up his nerve and strength. Fogg was weak and panting the last shovel full of coal he threw into the furnace, as they sighted Stanley Junction. He was as limp as a rag, and looked wretched as the train rolled into the depot.
They ran the locomotive to the roundhouse. Ralph went at once to the foreman’s office, while Fogg attended to the stalling of No. 999. He found the night watchman asleep there and no orders on the blackboard for Fogg or himself. This meant that they need not report before noon.
Ralph looked around for the fireman when he came out of the office, but the latter had disappeared, probably headed for home. Ralph, half-across the turntable, halted and went over to No. 999. 74
“The vest of that mysterious new acquaintance of mine, Clark—Porter,” said Ralph—“he said he left it in the locomotive.”