"That depends on what you want us to do," declared Tom.
"Oh, you won't have much to do. You see, it's like this," went on the manager. "This man who did the shooting wants to escape. He runs up to the railroad station here and buys his ticket—we have that part of it already. Then he is supposed to be in hiding behind yonder freighthouse. When the train comes in, he waits for all other passengers to get on board, then, as the train pulls out, he rushes forward and catches on the last car. At the same time one of the other fellows rushes out as if to catch him, but he is too late. Now, if you want to get into the scene, you get on the train just before she starts and stand on the back platform."
"Let's do it, Tom; it will be quite a lark!" exclaimed Sam.
"I'm willing," answered his brother; and so the matter was arranged. Then the boys hurried into the ticket office, to get their tickets to New York.
In the office they found old man Ricks, the station agent, grumbling to himself.
"Wot ye want?" he demanded, sourly, as he looked at the Rovers.
"Two tickets to New York, Mr. Ricks," returned Tom. "What's the matter?"
"Wot's the matter, huh? A whole lot, I should say!" declared old Ricks, as he began to make out the tickets. "A lot o' them movin' picter fellers been in here cuttin' up like mad."
"What did they do?" asked Sam, curiously.
"Huh! what didn't they do?" retorted the station master. "Come in here, an' knocked over a box an' a basket, rushed up to the winder, an' the next thing I knew, he had planked down a lot o' money, an' when I stuck my head out the winder here, that feller pretended to grab up a ticket wot I didn't give him at all, an' took up his money and dusted out the door. At the same time while this was goin' on, 'nother feller had a light turned on this here winder wot nearly blinded me, and the feller with that funny lookin' camera was a-turnin' the crank to beat the cars!"