Here the conductor stooped and picked up a small object over which Brakeman Joe had stumbled, and which he had sent flying out on to the platform.
It was a book, and the conductor picked it up, wondering where it could have come from. “‘Andersen’s Fairy Tales,’” he read aloud, holding it up to his lantern. “The very book my little Kitty was asking me to get for her only the other day! Well, if this isn’t a find!” Then, turning to the fly-leaf, he read aloud: “To Prince Dusty, from——”
Here he was interrupted by Arthur, who sprang forward, and, stretching out his hand for the book, cried: “Please, sir, it’s mine; and I should feel dreadfully to lose it, and we aren’t tramps, and didn’t mean to steal a ride. We got locked in by accident, and we have money enough to pay for everything, and oh! please don’t leave us here in this lonely place.”
The conductor stared at the boy in amazement. “Well, you do look like a ‘little Dusty’ sure enough, though I can’t say that you are exactly what I should have fancied a Prince was. Who are you, anyway? And where do you want to go to?”
Then Arthur, who was completely covered with white dust from the meal sacks on which he had been sleeping, told the conductor, in as few words as possible, of the object of their journey, and how they happened to be locked into car No. 201. He finished by repeating that they had money, and would willingly pay for the privilege of riding further on the train, provided it was bound east. This last question was asked most anxiously, for as yet the boy had not the slightest idea of where they were.
“Bound east!” exclaimed the conductor. “Of course we are, and there goes the ‘New York Limited’ now.” As he spoke, an express train, of heavy vestibuled cars, thundered past them, with a roar and a crash, at such tremendous speed that in a second it was gone, and its two red eyes, looking backward, seemed to wink mockingly at the snail-like freight train, as they were whisked out of sight.
“Now,” said the conductor as the roar of the express dying away permitted his voice to be again heard, “I’ll tell you what I will do. You say you are not tramps, and didn’t mean to stow away in that car, and that you have money enough to pay for your trip. That all may be so, and it may not. At any rate I haven’t time to investigate your story now, for we must pull out of here at once. So you and the old man and the dog just tumble into that caboose, and I’ll carry you along a bit further. We’ll see about paying for the trip when you decide how far you want to go, and you shall read a story out of your book to Brakeman Joe and me, to pay for the ride you have already had. But mind,” he added threateningly as Arthur began to thank him, “if I find that you have been telling me any lies, I’ll have you arrested and locked up in the very first town we come to.”
CHAPTER XXII.
SAVING THE KEYSTONE EXPRESS.
Conductor Tobin, of freight No. 15, was one of the biggest-hearted and most generous men on the road. In fact it was largely owing to this that he had not long ago been promoted from a freight to a passenger train. He could not bear the thought of taking a place from any of his friends, whom he thought needed it more than he did. So he always held back, and let them step up over his head, and rejoiced with them in their good fortune, and said he would take his turn next time. He had a wife and one little girl about Arthur’s age, whose name was Katherine, but who was called “Kitty” for short; and, though the conductor’s pay was small, they managed to make both ends meet, and lived very happily in Harrisburg, in a little cottage that they only rented, but which it was their great desire to own, some day. It was so conveniently situated, not far from the railroad, and yet in such a nice part of the town that Mrs. Tobin often said to Conductor Tobin that they could not find one more to their liking, if they should look for a hundred years, and Conductor Tobin agreed with her.
Like Brakeman Joe, the only persons with whom Conductor Tobin had no patience, and upon whom he was very severe whenever they came in his way, were tramps. In the present case he was pleased with the sweet, honest face of little “Prince Dusty,” a name that struck his fancy most happily. It seemed a proof of the truthfulness of Arthur’s claims, that he possessed, and evidently valued, the very book for which his little girl had expressed a desire. Thus he became favorably inclined toward our travellers, and offered to help them on with their journey.