There was a scramble above and then the exhaust of the locomotive was imitated in a thin, boyish treble:
"Sh-h! sh-h! sh-h! Choo! choo! choo! Ding-dong-ding! We're off—"
A figure a-straddle the broad banister-rail shot into view on the upper flight. The momentum carried the boy around the first curve and to the brink of the second pitch. Down that he sped like an arrow, and so around to the last slant of the balustrade.
"Next stop, Chi-ca-go!" yelled the boy on the rail. "All o-o-out! all out for Chicago!"
And then, bang! he landed upon the hall rug.
"How'd you know the board wasn't set against you, Bobby?" demanded the red-haired one. "You might have had a wreck."
"Hello, Fred Martin. If I'd looked around and seen your red head, I'd sure thought they'd flashed a danger signal on me—though the Overland Limited is supposed to have a clear track, you know."
Fred jumped on him for that and the two chums had a wrestling match on the hall rug. It was, however, a good-natured bout, and soon they sat side by side on the lower step of the first flight, panting, and grinned at each other.
Bobby's hair was black, and he wore it much longer than Fred. To tell the truth, Fred had the "Riley cut," as the boys called it, so that his hair would not attract so much attention.
Fred had all the temper that is supposed to go with red hair. Perhaps red-haired people only seem more quick tempered because everybody "picks on them" so! Bobby was quite as boisterous as his chum, but he was more cautious and had some control over his emotions. Nobody ever called Bobby Blake a coward, however.