When they reached the roundhouse the fireman started straight for home. Ralph lingered a few minutes to chat with the foreman, and was about to leave when Fry, the claim agent of the road, came into the doghouse in great haste.
“Just the man I want to see, Fairbanks,” he said animatedly.
“That so?” smiled Ralph.
“Yes. Your conductor just notified me of the smashup beyond the limits. It looks clean cut enough, with the tracks cleared, but he says some of the stuff is perishable.”
“If you list chickens in that class,” responded Ralph, “I guess that’s right.”
“That’s the bother of it,” observed Fry. “Dead salvage could wait, and the wrecking crew could take care of it at their leisure, but--live stock!”
“It looked to me as if most of the chickens had got away,” exclaimed Ralph. “The car was split and twisted from end to end.”
“I reckon I had better get on the job instanter,” said the claim agent. “How about getting down to the bluff switch, Forgan?”
“Nothing moving but the regulars,” reported the roundhouse foreman. “You don’t need a special?”
“No, any dinky old machine will do.”