law, then. I’ll never give you a cent willingly.”
Ralph regarded the man thoughtfully for a minute or two.
“Mr. Farrington,” he said, “I have come to the conclusion that you are trying to make me more trouble. This man Evans is up to mischief, and I believe that you have incited him to it.”
The magnate was silent, regarding Ralph with menacing eyes.
“I warn you that it won’t pay, and that you won’t succeed,” continued Ralph. “What do you hope to accomplish by persecuting me?”
The old man glanced all about him. Then he spoke out.
“Fairbanks,” he said, “I give you one last chance – get out of Stanley Junction.”
“Why should I?” demanded Ralph.
“Because you have humiliated me and we can’t live in the same town together, that’s why.”
“You deserved humiliation,” responded Ralph steadily.
“All right, take your own view of the case. I will settle your claim for five thousand dollars and pay you the money at once, if you will leave Stanley Junction.”
“We will not take one cent less than the full twenty thousand dollars due us,” announced Ralph staunchly, “and I shall not leave Stanley Junction as long as my mother wants to live here.”
“Then,” said Gasper Farrington, venomously, as he walked from the spot, “look out for yourself.”
Ralph went back to the Evans home, but found only the little child there. He concluded he would not wait for Evans that evening. The discovery of his old-time enemy, Farrington, had been enlightening.
“I will have a talk with mother about this,” he mused.
When Ralph reached home a surprise greeted him. The little parlor was lighted up, indicating a visitor. He glanced in through the open windows.
The visitor was Zeph Dallas, the farmer boy.
CHAPTER V
ON SPECIAL DUTY
Ralph entered the house glad of an opportunity to interview the farmer boy, who had been in his thoughts considerably during the day.
“Mr. Dallas, this is my son, Ralph,” said Mrs. Fairbanks, as the young fireman came into the parlor.
The visitor arose from his chair in an awkward, embarrassed fashion. He flushed and stammered as he grasped Ralph’s extended hand.
“Brought you a sack of potatoes and some apples,” he said. “Neighbor gave me a lift in his wagon.”
“Is that so?” returned Ralph with a friendly smile. “Well, Mr. Dallas, I am very glad to see you.”
“Gladder than you were last time, I reckon,” said Zeph. “Say, I – I want to say I am ashamed of myself, and I want to thank you for all you did for me. It’s made me your friend for life, so I came to ask a favor of you.”
This was rather a queer way of putting the case, thought Ralph, and the fellow blundered on.
“You see, Mr. Ames, that’s the man who hired me, found out about my doings down here at Stanley Junction, and he has set me adrift.”
“That is too bad,” observed Ralph.
“No, it ain’t, for I deserve better work,” dissented Zeph. “They say you’re dreadfully smart and everybody’s friend, and I want you to help me get where I want to get.”
“All right, I am willing to try to assist you.”
“I don’t know exactly which I had better do,” proceeded Zeph – “become a chief of police or a railroad conductor. Of course, the man who speaks quickest and will pay the most money gets me.”
Ralph concealed a smile, for Zeph was entirely in earnest.
“Well, you see,” remarked the young fireman, “it is somewhat difficult to get just the position you want without some experience.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” declared the farmer boy confidently. “I’ve thought it all out. I once watched a conductor go through a train. Why, it’s no work at all. I could do it easily. And as to being a detective I’ve read lots of books on the subject, and I’ve even got some disguises I made up, in my satchel here.”
“Oh, brought your satchel, too, did you?” observed Ralph.
“Why, yes, I thought maybe you’d house me for a day or two till I closed a contract with somebody.”
The fellow was so simple-minded that Mrs. Fairbanks pitied him, and, observing this, Ralph said:
“You are welcome, Zeph, and I will later talk over with you the prospects of a situation.”
The visitor was soon completely at home. He ate a hearty supper, and, after the meal, took some home-made disguises from his satchel. The poor fellow strutted around proudly as he put these on in turn.
“Old peddler,” he announced, donning a skull cap, a white beard made out of rope, and a big pair of goggles. “Tramp,” and he put on a ragged coat and a torn cap, and acted out the appearance of a typical tramp quite naturally. There were several other representations, but all so crude and funny that Ralph with difficulty restrained his merriment.
“How will it do?” inquired Zeph, at the conclusion of the performance.
“You have got the elements of the profession in mind,” said Ralph guardedly, “but there is the practical end of the business to learn.”
Then Ralph seriously and earnestly told his visitor the real facts of the case. He devoted a full hour to correcting Zeph’s wrong impressions of detective and railroad work. By the time he got through, Zeph’s face was glum.
“Why, if what you say is true,” he remarked dejectedly, “I’m next to being good for nothing.”
“Oh, no,” said Ralph, “don’t you be discouraged at all. You have the starting point of every ambition – an idea. I myself do not think much of the detective line for one as young as you are. As to railroading, I can tell you one fact.”
“What’s that?” interrogated Zeph dreamily.
“You must begin at the bottom of the ladder and take one step at a time – slow steps, sure steps, to reach the top.”
“You’re a fireman, aren’t you?” asked Zeph, admiringly.
Ralph answered that he was, and this led to his relating to the curious and interested Zeph the story of his career from roundhouse worker and switch tower man to the present position.
“It’s fascinating, ain’t it?” said Zeph, with a long-drawn breath, when Ralph concluded his recital. “I reckon I’ll give up the detective idea. Can you help me get a position in the roundhouse?”
“I am willing to try,” assented Ralph. “You are strong and used to hard work, and that means a good deal in the roundhouse service.”
