"Track-walkers don't dress that way. He's got a tailor-made suit on."
"That's so, Dick. I wonder who he is?"
Whatever the man was writing did not seem to take long, for he soon arose. Then the two cadets saw him carefully pin the paper he had written to the inner pocket of his coat.
"Well, what do you know about that?" demanded Dick.
"It looks strange," admitted Paul. "He sure isn't going to lose that paper."
As he spoke the man resumed his pacing of the track. He came to the edge of the concrete bridge that carried the railroad over the highway, paused a moment, and then, with a shake of his head, retraced his steps. Then he came to a pause at the place where he had rested to write the note. He looked down the embankment, and once more shook his head.
Suddenly the whistle of an approaching train was heard, though it was some distance off, and would not be along for several minutes. At the sound the man on the tracks threw his hands upward with a tragic gesture.
"Paul!" cried Dick, "there's something wrong with that man! Maybe he's partly insane and doesn't realize his danger. I'm going up and tell him to get off the track."
"Maybe it would be a good idea, Dick. Go ahead—I'm with you."
The cadets scrambled up the yielding ashes and earth that formed the elevated embankment. As they advanced they could hear the distant rumbling of the approaching train. The man who had acted so strangely now saw them, but only regarded them with a sort of melancholy smile, and did not hasten away.