the story of the daring dash through the flames more than once to inquisitive railroad men. He quite obliterated himself in the recital.
The firemen had gained control of the flames, the exigency locomotives had all been sent back to the city. The master mechanic stood conversing with Griscom for a few moments after the latter left the surgeon's hands, and then approached Ralph with him. It was dusk now.
"We'll catch the 8.12, kid," announced Griscom. "That's him, Mr. Blake," he added, pointing Ralph out to his companion. "He did it, and I only helped him, and he's an all-around corker. I can tell you!"
Griscom slapped Ralph on the shoulder emphatically. The master mechanic looked at the youth grimly, yet with a glance not lacking real interest.
"From the Junction?" he said.
"Yes, sir."
"What's the name?"
"Fairbanks—Ralph Fairbanks."
"Oh," said the master mechanic quickly, as if he recognized the name. "We'll remember you, Fairbanks. If I can do anything for you"
"You can, sir." The words were out of Ralph's mouth before he intended it. "I want to learn railroading."
