Of course, Billy was only joking, for the man at the lunch counter did nothing of the kind. They were able to make a very respectable meal, sitting there on the stools provided for hasty travelers who would possibly bolt a cup of hot coffee, snatch up a sandwich, and hurry out, for fear their train might leave them in the lurch, only to learn they had another fifteen minutes’ wait.
When finally even Billy declared he could not eat anything more, they paid their bill and sauntered out of the lunchroom.
“Just a quarter of two,” announced Hugh.
“And our train isn’t due until thirty-seven after,” Billy observed.
“Perhaps we might get some information from the agent about what chance there is of its getting through,” suggested the patrol leader.
“I kind of dread to put it to the test,” Billy admitted with a shrug of the shoulders. “But I guess the sooner we know the worst the better. Come along, and let’s interview the ticket man.”
As customary in towns and small cities, the telegraph operator was also the ticket agent; although there were express and station representatives. He seemed to be busily employed taking and receiving messages, and paid not the slightest attention to the two scouts as they came to the window of his booth.
As both Hugh and Billy had studied telegraphy, and were, in fact, pretty clever operators, they soon began to try and read the message as it came clicking over the wires.
The very first words they deciphered gave them a severe shock, and made them doubly eager to catch still more, for they were “bad washouts,” “all trains withdrawn until further orders!”
It was a troubled face that Billy turned toward his chum. The agent had left the telegraph instrument, and was hurrying outside, without appearing to notice them. He acted like a man who had a heavy weight on his mind.