GORDON CRAIG
"Been at this job long?" he asked easily.
"Three days," I replied unhesitatingly, drawing the reins through my hands.
"Like it?"
"Well, I've had worse and better," with a laugh. "I prefer this to my last one."
"What was that?"
"Ridin' blind baggage."
It was his turn to laugh, and he did so.
"I thought I was not mistaken," he said at last, sobering. "You are the same lad the train hands put off the Atlantic Express at Vernon a week ago."
I nodded, beginning to suspect him of being a fly-cop who had spotted me for a pull.
"I never noticed the name of the burg," I returned. "Why? were you there?"
"Yes, I came in on the same train. Just caught a glimpse of your face in the light of the brakeman's lantern. How did you get here?"
"Freight, two hours later."
"You 're not a bum, or you would n't be working."
I put one foot on the wheel, but he touched me on the sleeve with his cane.
"Wait a minute," and there was more animation in the tone. "I may have something better for you than
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