Jack generally sat in a sort of easy chair with one arm to it, on which a board was fastened in such a way as to make a little writing-desk. The space under the seat of the chair was boxed, with a little door on one side, and in there he kept his stationery.
Hardly a day passed that Jack did not have boy visitors. There were only two things about him that seemed singular to me. We could never find out his real name. He told us to call him simply Jack; whereupon Isaac Holman said the full name must be Jack-in-the-Box, and after that we always called him by the full name. The other queer thing was, that he was never known to read a newspaper. The boys sometimes brought one to him, but he always said he didn't care about it, and would not open it. Father and Mr. Briggs appeared to think it very strange that he should live in that box and attend to the flags and signals. To me it seemed the most delightful life imaginable, and Jack-in-the-Box was one of my heroes. I often thought that if I could choose my own station in life, my choice would be a flag-station on the railroad.
Phaeton adopted Ned's suggestion as to consulting Jack-in-the-Box about his invention, and we three went together to see him.
When we got there, the door of the box stood wide open; everything seemed to be in its place, but Jack had disappeared.
"Probably gone up the road, to flag an extra train," said Phaeton. "No, he hasn't, for there's his flag in its place in the corner."
"He can't have been murdered," said Ned, "or they would have robbed the box. Must be suicide. Perhaps we'd better take charge of his things."
"I wouldn't be in a hurry about that," said Phaeton.
"Or he may have been run over by a train that he didn't see," said Ned, getting excited, and examining the rails in search of blood-marks. "If he was trying to remember all that funny-looking Greek stuff in some of those books, I shouldn't think he would notice a train, or anything else. And we'll all have to sit on the coroner's jury. Poor Jack! I don't believe we can say the train was to blame, or make it pay damages. I think I should like to sit near the feet; for he had handsome feet and only wore number six boots. He was an awful good fellow, too. But that'll take us out of school one day, anyway."
"So you think there is no great loss without some small gain," said Phaeton.
"I didn't say so!" said Ned, a little offended at this plain interpretation of his last sentence. "I feel as badly as anybody about Jack's death. But, at any rate, they'll have to do something with his property. I suppose, if he had no relations—and I never heard of any—they'll give it to his best friends. I think I should like the alarm-clock, and the chair, and perhaps a few of the tools. What will you take?" turning to me.