"Why not?"
"Used up."
"Am I?" queried Ralph with a smile. "Then I don't know it. I fancy it was a narrow escape, and I am grateful for it."
"The master mechanic was looking for you when he got frogged," observed Griscom.
"Yes, I thought he was," nodded Ralph.
"Here, Fairbanks," broke in the foreman of the roundhouse, "tack up this flimsy with the rest, will you?"
Ralph took the tissue sheet tendered, stepped through the open doorway into the roundhouse, and set the sheet upon two tacks on the bulletin board. He started to stroll over to No. 999 in her stall.
"Hold on," challenged Forgan; "that flimsy just came in. It's an important order. Better read it, Fairbanks."
"All right," assented Ralph, and turning, cast his eyes at the sheet. They distended wide, for this is what he read:
"No. 7, new train, Overland Express, Mountain Division, 6.12 p. m., beginning Monday, the 15th. Engineer: Fairbanks—Fireman: Fogg."
"My!" was all that Ralph could gasp out.
