CHAPTER XII
A GOOD FRIEND
RALPH could not repress a smile at a sight of the erratic youth. The young inventor, it seemed, was always coming to light in some original way. His last sensational appearance fitted in naturally to his usual eccentric methods.
“Hey, there! trying to beat the railroad, eh?” shouted the depot official officer, rushing forward to nab the culprit.
“Don’t arrest him, Mr. Brooks,” spoke Ralph quickly. “I know him; I’m interested in him. He is no professional ride-stealer, and I am perfectly satisfied that he never went to all that risk and discomfort because he didn’t have the money to pay his fare.”
The watchman was an old-time friend of Ralph. He looked puzzled, but he halted in his original intention of arresting the stowaway. Young Graham paid no attention to anything going on about him. He seemed occupied as usual with his own 105 thoughts solely. First he dug cinders out of his blinking eyes. Then he rubbed the coating of grime and soot from his face, and began groping in his pockets. Very ruefully he turned out one particular inside coat pocket. He shook his head in a doleful way.
“Gone!” he remarked. “Lost my pocket book. Friend—a pencil, quick.”
These words he spoke to Ralph, beckoning him earnestly to approach nearer.
“And a card, a piece of paper, anything I can write on. Don’t delay—hurry, before I forget it.”
Ralph found a stub of a pencil and some railroad blanks in his pocket, and gave them to the young inventor. Then the latter set at work, becoming utterly oblivious of his surroundings. For nearly two minutes he was occupied in making memoranda and drawing small sections of curves and lines.