“Wait a minute,” directed the official, and he went into the next office. Ralph heard him dictating something to his stenographer. Then the typewriter clicked, and shortly afterwards the master mechanic came into the office with a sheet of foolscap, which he handed to Ralph. A pleased flush came into the face of the young railroader as he read the typewritten heading of the sheet—it was a subscription list in behalf of Lemuel Fogg, and headed by the signature of the master mechanic, with “$20” after it. 99
“You are a noble man!” cried Ralph irresistibly. “No wonder it’s a joy to work for you.”
“Down brakes there!” laughed the big-hearted fellow. “Don’t draw it too strong, Fairbanks. Don’t be more liberal than you can afford now,” he directed, as Ralph placed the paper on the desk, and added to it his subscription for $10. “You can tell Fogg we’re rising a few pennies for him. I’ll circulate the subscription among the officials, and if any plan to have the roundhouse crowd chip in a trifle comes to your mind, why, start it down the rails. Get out.”
“All right,” cried Ralph. “You’ve said that twice, so I guess it’s time to go now.”
“One minute, though,” added the master mechanic. “You and Fogg will run No. 999 on the Tipton accommodation to-morrow. It’s a shift berth, though. I don’t want you to go dreaming quite yet, Fairbanks, that you’re president of the Great Northern, and all that, but, under the hat, I will say that you can expect a boost. We are figuring on some big things, and I shouldn’t wonder if a new train is soon to be announced that will wake up some of our rivals. Get out now for good, for I’m swamped with work here.”
The young engineer left the office of the master mechanic with a very happy heart. Affairs had turned out to his entire satisfaction, and, too, 100 for the benefit of those whose welfare he had considered beyond his own. Ralph was full of the good news he had to impart to Lemuel Fogg. As he left the vicinity of the depot, he began to formulate a plan in his mind for securing a subscription from his fellow workers to aid Fogg.
“I say,” suddenly remarked Ralph to himself with a queer smile, and halting in his progress, “talk about coincidences, here is one for certain. ‘The Overland Limited,’ why, I’ve got an idea!”
The “Overland Limited” had been in Ralph’s mind ever since leaving the office of the master mechanic. There could be only one solution to the hint that official had given of “new trains that would wake up some of the rivals of the Great Northern.” That road had recently bought up two connecting lines of railroad. The China & Japan Mail experiment—could it be a test as to the possibility of establishing an “Overland Special?” At all events, there was a pertinent suggestion in the words that met the gaze of the young engineer and caused him to halt calculatingly.
A newly-painted store front with clouded windows had a placard outside bearing the announcement: “Olympia Theatre, 10-cent show. Will open next Saturday evening with the following special scenes: 1—The Poor Artist. 2—London 101 by Gaslight. 3—A Day on the Overland Limited.” At the door of the store just being renovated for a picture show stood a man, tying some printed bills to an awning rod for passers by to take. Ralph approached this individual.
“Going to open a moving picture show?” he inquired in a friendly way.