"We'll have to rout somebody out and see about our stuff," said Hackett. "Hello, here he comes now."
A rather tall, spare man with a red, scraggly beard emerged from the ticket office and lazily ambled toward them.
"How d'y do, boys!" he said, with a broad grin. "Be you looking for anybody who lives hereabouts?"
"Is that the town, Jack?" asked Nat Wingate, pointing to the house opposite.
"Well! The idea! How did you guess my name?" exclaimed the station-master, with a look of pleased surprise. "Reckon I never seen you before, neither."
"We're the bounding brotherhood of brilliant guessers," grinned Nat. "Now, Jack, a few words with you; we want to know if you have a lot of boxes and sleds for us."
This rapid flow of words quite bewildered the old man. He scratched his head. Then an idea seemed to dawn upon him.
"Be them yourn?" he said. "A hull lot of stuff, an' sleds, too?"
"Now you're talking, Jack, old boy," said Hackett. "Trot out your papers, Somers, and show him."
"They're all in the freight house. You boys a-going ter stay in town fer a spell, I reckon, ain't yer?"