"No, he didn't come in. I guess he went home before."
The door-keeper paused and looked thoughtful. Finally he said:—
"You want to go to Scranton?"
"Yes, that's where I live."
"Well, I'll tell you what you do. You git onto that train, and when Jim Coleman—he's the conductor—when he comes around to punch your ticket, you tell him I said you were to be passed. Now you'll have to hurry; run!"
The kind-hearted door-keeper saw Ralph leap on to the train as it moved slowly out, and then he turned back into the waiting-room. "Might as well give the lad a lift," he said to a man who stood by, smiling; "he looked awful solemn when the last train before went and left him. Jim won't put him off till he gits to Pittston, anyway."
Ralph found a vacant seat in the car and dropped into it, breathless and excited. His good luck had come to him all in a moment so, that it had quite upset him.
He did not just understand why the door-keeper's word should be good for his passage, but the conductor would know, and doubtless it was all right.
The train went rumbling on through the darkness; the lamps, hanging from the ceiling, swayed back and forth; the people in the car were very quiet,—some of them, indeed, were already asleep.
By and by, the conductor came in, a slender, young-looking man, with a good-natured face. He greeted several of the passengers pleasantly, and came down the aisle, punching tickets to the right and left, till he reached the seat where Ralph was.