In fifteen minutes the long journey of Ned Napier and his chum Alan Hope to the far southwest was to begin.
At the other end of the big shed, where the cars of the long train seemed to fade almost out of sight, four persons were anxiously awaiting the approach of the hour of departure. One of these, the conductor of the train, consulted his watch, as he had done several times already, holding it close within the glow of his green-shaded lantern.
"It's getting pretty close to time, Major Honeywell," he said with some concern. "You're sure he'll be here?"
The man addressed, who stood leaning lightly on a cane and whose soft dark hat and clothes indicated his military calling, showed similar concern, but replied confidently:
"We have nearly fifteen minutes. Young Napier has a reputation for never failing. I'm sure he'll be here in time."
"Here's the telegram," interrupted young Alan Hope, as he drew a yellow sheet from his pocket. "It is from Youngstown, Ohio, and says Ned's train is on time. He left Washington yesterday and if everything is all right he reached the Union Depot a half hour ago. He'll be here."
"Well, you know we can't wait, much as I'd like to," replied the conductor. "You'd better have everything ready."
"She's dat, sah," interrupted the fourth person of the group, a young negro, who, as he spoke, placed his hand on the side door of the car, and moved it on its easy running bearings.
"You see, there isn't much time left," continued the sympathetic train official. "We're coupling up." And he nodded toward the gloom beyond the train shed out of which the big compound locomotive was already emerging. The military man with the cane became more apprehensive.
"What shall we do if Ned fails to get here?" he said suddenly after peering down the long platform toward the busy end of the station.