The imitation of a steam whistle grew rapidly nearer. It seemed to be descending from the roof of the house—and descending very swiftly. Finally there came a decided bang—the landing of a pair of well-shod feet on the rug—and the voice rang out:
"All out! All out for last stop! All out!"
"That's Bobby," suggested the boy with the red hair, looking wistfully into Meena's kitchen.
"Vell!" ejaculated the girl. "You go in by the dining-room door, I guess. You not go to trapse through my clean kitchen. Vipe your feet, boy!"
The boy did as he was bade, and opened the dining-room door. A steady footstep was thumping overhead, rising into the upper regions of the three-story house.
The red-haired youngster knew his way about this house just as well as he knew his own. Only he tripped over a corner of the dining-room rug and bumped into two chairs in the darkened living-room before he reached the front hall.
This was wide and was lighted above by ground-glass oval windows on all three flights of stairs. The mahogany balustrade was in a single smooth spiral, broken by no ornament. It offered a tempting course from garret to ground floor to any venturesome small boy.
"All aboard!" shouted the voice overhead.
"The Overland Limited," said the red-haired boy, grinning, and squinting up the well.
"Ding-dong! ding-dong! All aboard for the Overland Limited! This way! No stop between Denver and Chicago! All aboard!"