“You are forgetting your flask,” said the station-master, as Steele snapped shut his valise.
“No, I’m not. That flask and its contents belong to you, as a reward for being patient and instructive when a darned fool let loose from the city happened your way.”
And this showed John Steele to be a reader of his fellow-man; for while the engineer might accept the two dollars, the independent station-master certainly would not have done so. That glib official, however, seemed to have no particular words for this occasion, so he changed the subject and said: “If you persuade Joe to go, I wish you’d remember the lady in the waiting-room. She’s a Miss Dorothy Slocum, and a powerful nice girl, that teaches school in Bunkerville. Fact is, this junction was named after her father. Used to be the principal man round these parts; but he lost his money, and now his girl’s got to teach school. I never knew him—he was dead long before I came here. She’s been visiting relatives. This is vacation time, you know.”
“All right. You tell her there’s a special leaving in a few minutes, and that she’s very welcome to ride upon it.”
With that John Steele went out into the furnace of the sun across the dusty road and entered the composite car. The Farmers’ Road did not join rails with the main line, and so caused much extra handling of freight. The engine stood there simmering in the heat, both external and internal, a slight murkiness of smoke rising from its funnel, shaped like an inverted bell.
“Hallo, Joe!” cried Steele, as he entered the car. “Don’t you yearn for home and friends?”
The man was sprawling on two seats, with a newspaper over his head, as the station-master had predicted.
“Hello!” he echoed, sitting up and shaking away the sheet of paper, “what’s the matter?”
“Nothing, except that if the spirit should move you to get over to Bunkerville with this ancient combination, five dollars will be transferred from my pocket into yours.”
“‘Nough said,” cried Joe, rising to his feet. “It’ll take me about twenty minutes to get the pot boiling again. You don’t happen to have the fiver about you, I suppose? I haven’t seen one for a couple of years.”