Regan sat down heavily in his chair.
"What?" demanded the super.
"Toddles," said Donkin. "I've been trying to drum a little railroading into him—on the key."
Regan wiped his face. He looked helplessly from Donkin to the super, and then back again at Donkin.
"But—but what's he doing at Cassil's Siding? How'd he get there—h'm? H'm? How'd he get there?"
"I don't know," said Donkin, his fingers rattling the Cassil's Siding call again. "He doesn't answer any more. We'll have to wait for the story till they make Blind River, I guess."
And so they waited. And presently at Blind River, Kelly, dictating to the operator—not Beale, Beale's day man—told the story. It lost nothing in the telling—Kelly wasn't that kind of a man—he told them what Toddles had done, and he left nothing out; and he added that they had Toddles on a mattress in the baggage car, with a doctor they had discovered amongst the passengers looking after him.
At the end, Carleton tamped down the dottle in the bowl of his pipe thoughtfully with his forefinger—and glanced at Donkin.
"Got along far enough to take a station key some- where ?" he inquired casually. "He's made a pretty good job of it as the night operator at Cassil's."
Donkin was smiling.
"Not yet," he said.
"No?" Carleton's eyebrows went up. "Well, let him come in here with you, then, till he has; and when you say he's ready, we'll see what we can do. I guess it's coming to him; and I guess"—he shifted his glance to the master mechanic—"I guess we'll go down and meet Number Two when she comes in, Tommy."
