CHAPTER XXXV
CONCLUSION
Ralph stepped across the turntable entrance to the roundhouse at Stanley Junction just as the one o'clock whistles were blowing.
It was like coming home again. Limpy, shining up a locomotive headlight, gave a croak of welcome, jumped down from the pilot, and slapped his greasy, blackened hand into that of his young favorite with genuine fervor.
The engineers, firemen and extras in the dog house called out the usual variety of cheery chaff, but all pleasant and interested.
"This is a great place to find friends!" smiled Ralph, and then hurried his steps, for the roundhouse foreman at that moment appeared at the door of his little office.
"This way, Fairbanks," he hailed, quite eagerly. "Well," as he ushered Ralph into the grimy sanctum, "back again, I see?"
"Yes, Mr. Forgan," answered Ralph, "and glad to be here."
"What news?"
"About the stolen plunder," began Ralph.
"Of course. That's the one considerable weight on my mind, just at present," acknowledged the foreman, with an anxious sigh. "We show a mortgage on our inventory, and a big railroad system don't take kindly to that sort of thing, you know."
"Very well, Mr. Forgan," said Ralph brightly, "you can change your inventory."
"What! you don't mean"
"I have found the wagon load of brass fittings," answered Ralph. "They are in safe charge at the present time, subject to your order. Here is my report to the special agent, Mr. Matthewson, and I guess, Mr. Forgan, I'm out of a job again, for I don't see anything further in sight."
"Fairbanks, you're a trump!" shouted the delighted foreman, slapping the young railroader vigorously on the shoulder. "You've saved me some uneasiness, I can tell you! That your report?" with a glance at a neatly-directed envelope Ralph had produced. "Come with me. We want to catch Matthewson before he gets away. He's going down to Springfield this afternoon—on your business, too."
"On my business?" repeated Ralph. "That sounds like a good omen."
"Don't you worry about omens, my young friend!" chuckled the foreman. "You've about won your spurs, this time. How did you run across that stolen stuff, when those smart, experienced specials never got a sniff of it?"
"Quite by accident," replied Ralph. "I found Ike Slump. As near as I can figure it out, he and his tramp friend had a breakdown near Dover. The tramp appears to have got discouraged or frightened, cut away with Cohen's horses, sold them and decamped, leaving Ike in the lurch. Ike got the wagonload over into a ravine to hide it till he could raft the stuff to a distance, and dispose of it and disappear, too. I nipped his scheme just in time."
Matthewson appeared as glad to see Ralph as Forgan had been. He expressed the liveliest satisfaction at the contents of the report Ralph handed to him.
"I think this will be a final spoke in the wheel of Mr. Inspector Bardon," he said significantly. "Hope you attended to your writing and spelling in this report, Fairbanks?"
"Why so?" inquired Ralph.
"Because the president of the Great Northern is likely to see it before nightfall," announced Matthewson, with a grim chuckle.
The foreman and Ralph returned to the house. After a while Big Denny came in, full of animation and welcome. Ralph learned that Mrs. Slump was better, but hers was a sad household. The parents had about given up ever redeeming their scapegrace son from his evil ways, and the stricken mother insisted to her husband that they would never know good luck again until he gave up selling strong drink.
With a promise to come up to his house and see little Nora, "who so prettily says her prayers for you every night," Forgan told Ralph, the foreman allowed his friend to go home late in the afternoon.
That was a quiet, happy evening at the Fairbanks homestead.
It seemed to mother and son as though after a brave, patient struggle they had reached some sublime height, from which they could look back over all difficulties overcome, and forward to golden promises for the future.
Ralph valued the friends he had made in the railroad service and also the experience he had gained.
There had been ups and downs. There was hard work ahead. But, brighter than ever, shone the clear star of ambition at the top of the ladder of the railroad career.
Ralph felt that he was in the hands of his friends, and could afford to await their exertions in his behalf.
The next day he was returning from a stroll, turning, over in his mind a plan to learn Matthewson's decision as to what, if anything, the company wanted done with Ike Slump, and to make a visit to Farwell Gibson with the joyful news that would make him a free man, when nearing home, Ralph hurried his steps at the sounds of animated conversation within the cottage.
In the cozy little parlor sat his mother, and on a stool at her feet was Van. His bright, ingenuous face was aglow with happiness, and he was chatting away to a loving, interested listener merry as a magpie.
"Hello, there, Van Sherwin!" challenged Ralph, in mock severity. "I can't have any prodigal son pushing me out of my place this way!"
"I have two boys now," said Mrs. Fairbanks, with a proud smile, as the two manly young fellows joined hands in a brotherly welcome.
"What brings you here?" was Ralph's first query.
"Slump, mainly," answered Van.
"What about him?"
"Sloped, bag and baggage—and some of Mr. Gibson's baggage to boot. He played it pretty fine on Mr. Gibson, who allowed him more liberty than he deserved. Yes, Ike cut out last night, and we thought you ought to know about it at once."
"That's right," nodded Ralph. "However, maybe it is better he should drop out of the affair in just that way. It will save trouble and complications. He may sometime see the errors of his ways, and turn over a new leaf."
"I doubt it," dissented Van. "I think he's an all-around bad one. What about Mr. Gibson's business, if I may ask? He's terribly anxious."
"Nothing but good news," answered Ralph heartily. "Mr. Gibson is free to introduce the Dover & Springfield Short Line Railroad to the great traveling public just as soon as he likes, now."
"Bet you he'll have it running inside of a year!" predicted the exuberant Van. "Bet you in two I'm a first-class, bang-up locomotive engineer, and you're master mechanic of the road!"
"That's a far look into the future, Van," said Ralph, with an indulgent smile. "Just now, I'm getting restless for work of 'most any kind—I wish they would put me back in the roundhouse."
There was a vigorous knock at the front door of the cottage at that moment.
Mrs. Fairbanks answered the summons. She reentered the parlor holding an envelope in one hand.
"A telegram," she announced.
"For me?" questioned Ralph, as she extended it towards him.
"For you, Ralph."
It was the first telegram Ralph Fairbanks had ever received, and, his mind on a working strain already, he looked conscious and expectant as he opened it.
The telegram was dated at Springfield, the headquarters of the road.
It was signed: "James Blake, Master Mechanic."
At a glance Ralph comprehended that the mission of his friend, Matthewson, had been successful.
"The first step up the ladder!" he said, with shining eyes, to his mother and Van.
The telegram read:
"Ralph Fairbanks will report Monday morning at the roundhouse, Stanley Junction, for duty as a regularly appointed switch towerman on the Great Northern Railroad."
THE END