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228
RALPH OF THE ROUNDHOUSE

dition might assume at this new stage in the case. Van came upright, however, and dispelled vague fears—clear-eyed, smiling, bright as a dollar.

"Hello!" he hailed—"locomotive, friend, embankment. You're Fairbanks?"

"That's right," said Ralph—"you remember me, do you?"

"Sure, I do. What's in the bundle? Grub? and the bottle? Water? Give me a swig—I'm burned up with thirst."

"This first," said Ralph, producing the phial, and explaining its predicted potency. "Half of it—now some water, if you like."

Van choked and spluttered over the hot decoction. Ralph was immensely gratified as he followed it up by eating a good meal of the home-made pie, biscuits and cheese with which the kind-hearted woman at the nearest house had provided them.

Van's affliction had lifted like a cloud blown entirely away by a brisk, invigorating breeze.

"Rested and fed," he declared, with a sigh of luxurious contentment and satisfaction. "So I was crazy, eh?" he bluntly propounded.

"Certainly not."

"Idiotic, then?"

"Hardly," dissented Ralph. "My mother has