“Do you want me to identify myself?” asked Roy with a laugh. “Colonel Weston knows me.”
“I reckon it’s all right who ye air, but why in the name uv all that’s good and holy, didn’t ye send it by freight?”
“It’s all here, is it?” Roy asked anxiously.
“All here? I should say not.”
The boy’s heart sank.
“It’s nigh all over town. That gasoline is over thar by the water tank—an’ by express, too,” the agent repeated, looking at Roy as if he were a Rockefeller. “An’ the big boxes is over in the freight house. Some o’ the bundles is in the baggage room.”
“Well,” said Roy laughing and greatly relieved, “I had this left out of the express money,” and he handed the agent a two-dollar bill.
“Say, kid,” the agent said, a little embarrassed, “where do you want that stuff took?”
When the boy explained that, at present, he only meant to check it up, the mollified official offered his assistance with alacrity. Within an hour Roy was joined by Colonel Weston, who had a look at the freight he was to transport.
“Fine,” he exclaimed, “all but the gasoline. But we’ll make it on one wagon. Old Dan Doolin is goin’ to drive fur us.”