Ralph found his mother bustling about at a great rate when he reached home. The excitement over the fire had died down. Fogg was up at the ruins getting his rescued household belongings to a neighborly shelter. The string of excited friends to condole with Mrs. Fogg had dwindled away, and the poor lady lay in comfort and peace in the best bedroom of the house.
“She seems so grateful to you for having saved her life,” Mrs. Fairbanks told Ralph, “and so glad, she told me, that her husband had signed the pledge, that she takes the fire quite reasonably.”
“Yes,” remarked Ralph, “I heard about the pledge, and it is a blessed thing. I have other 110 grand news, too. There’s a lot of good fellows in Stanley Junction, and the Foggs won’t be long without a shelter over their heads,” and Ralph told his mother all about the subscription list and the moving picture show benefit.
“You are a grand manager, Ralph,” said the fond mother. “I am only too glad to do my share in making these people welcome and comfortable.”
“You know how to do it, mother,” declared Ralph, “that’s sure.”
“It seems as if things came about just right to take in the Foggs,” spoke Mrs. Fairbanks. “Limpy Joe went back to his restaurant on the Short Line yesterday, and Zeph Dallas has left, looking for a new job, he says, so we have plenty of spare rooms for our guests.”
Ralph started for the ruined Fogg homestead to see if he could be of any use there. He came upon Fogg moving some furniture to the barn of a neighbor on a hand-cart. The fireman dropped the handles as he saw Ralph. His face worked with vivid emotion as he grasped the hand of the young railroader.
“Fairbanks,” he said, “what can I say to you except that you have been the best friend I have ever known!” 111
“Nothing, except to make up your mind that the friendship will last if you want to suit me.”
“Honest—honest?” urged Fogg, the tears in his eyes, earnestly regarding Ralph’s face. “You don’t despise me?”