Allan had heard no sound, and Hopkins came back, after having gone to the door of the waiting-room and looked up and down the track again.
“False alarm,” he said. “I thought I heerd three or four men walkin’. Say, I’m goin’ in an’ lay down an’ take a nap. I’m most dead fer sleep.”
“Do you think it’s safe?”
“Safe? Sho! I should say so! Besides, I’ll show you a trick. Come along.”
Allan followed him into the dark freight-shed.
Hopkins struck a match and by its light gathered together a pile of burlap from the pieces lying in the corners. He threw this down before the door.
“There,” he said. “Anybody who comes in that door ’ll hev t’ step over Jed Hopkins. I reckon nobody ’ll try that more ’n once. Now I’m goin’ t’ shet th’ door. You ’d better tell anybody who comes t’ give me fair warnin’ afore they opens it.”
“All right,” laughed Allan. “Good night.”
“Night,” answered Hopkins, brusquely, and closed the door.
Allan heard him arranging himself on the other side. Then all was still. The boy went back to his desk at the front of the office and sat down. There was no sound to break the stillness, and the sudden sense of fatigue which stole over him reminded him that he had already done a hard day’s work before starting for Coalville. Luckily, he was to be relieved at midnight—an hour and a half more, and he would be free to go to sleep. He would sleep all the way back to Wadsworth. He must be sure to tell the conductor to call him and not let him be carried past his station. The conductor would understand—he would know, himself, what it was to work overtime.