Bart Stirling's Road to Success Part 9

He leaned over and felt of its surface, which retained scarcely any heat now.

"We heard the old iron box was caught open by the fire and everything in it burned up," spoke one of the trackmen.

"I supposed so myself," said Bart, "but it seems otherwise. I wonder how heavy it is?"

"Wait till I get some tackle," said one of the workmen.

He went away and returned with two crowbars and a pulley and block tackle.

It was no work at all for those stout, experienced fellows to get the safe clear of the ruins, and, with the aid of a big truck they brought from the freight house, convey it to the new express quarters.

Just as the town bell rang out four o'clock, Mr. Leslie stepped over the threshold.

He glanced about the place briskly, gave a start as he noticed the heap of account books at Bart's elbow, and looked both pleased and puzzled as his eyes lighted on the safe.

"Why, Stirling!" he exclaimed, "are you a wizard?"

"Not quite," replied Bart with a smile, "but someone else seems to be."

"Are those the office books we thought burned up, and the safe?"

"Yes, sir."

"How is this?"

Bart told of the mysterious return of the books and of the sc.r.a.p of writing that had led him to dig up the safe.

"That's a pretty strange circ.u.mstance," observed Mr. Leslie thoughtfully. "How do you account for it?"

"I can't," admitted Bart, "except to theorize, of course, that someone had enough interest in myself or the company to rush into the burning shed and save the books and close the safe while I was getting my father to safety."

"That's rational, but who was it?" persisted Mr. Leslie.

"Whoever it was," said Bart, "he has certainly proved himself a good, true friend."

"Have you no idea who it is?" challenged Mr. Leslie sharply.

Bart hesitated for a moment.

"Why, yes," he admitted finally. "I am pretty sure who it is. I do not know his name, but I have seen him several times," and Bart thought it best to reveal to his superior all he knew about the roustabout who had warned him of the burglary, who had a.s.sisted him in rescuing his father from the burning express shed, and who had vanished suddenly as people began to crowd to the scene of the blaze.

"I would like to meet that man!" commented Mr. Leslie.

"I hardly think that possible," explained Bart. "He seems to be afraid to face the open daylight, and, as you see, has not even manifested himself to me, except in a covert way."

"He is some poor unfortunate in trouble," said the superintendent. "If you do see him, Stirling, give him that--from the express company."

Bart was sure that his mysterious friend could be no other than the roustabout. He took the crisp ten-dollar bill, which the superintendent extended with an impetuousness that showed he was a genuine, warm-hearted man under the surface.

"That quarter of a dollar you gave him was a grand investment, Stirling.

And now to get down to business, for I haven't much time to spare."

The superintendent, seating himself on the bench, consulted his watch and fixed his glance on Bart in his former stern, practical way.

"I saw your father at the hospital," he announced.

"Yes, sir?" murmured Bart anxiously.

"They are going to let him go home to-morrow. I am very sorry for his misfortune. He is an old and reliable employee of the express company, and we will find it difficult to replace him. I have thought over a suggestion he made, and have decided to offer you his position."

"Oh, sir! I thank you," said Bart spontaneously, and the tears of gladness and pride sprang to his eyes uncontrollably.

"Technically your father will appear in our service. I do not think the company bonding him will refuse to continue to be his surety. You must make your own arrangement as to legally representing him, signing his name and the like, and of course you will have to do all the work, for he will be helpless for some time to come. Are you willing to undertake the responsibility?"

"Gladly."

"Then that is settled. This arrangement will be in force for sixty days.

If, at the end of that time your father is no better, I do not doubt that we will give you the regular appointment, if in the meantime you fill the bill acceptably."

"I shall do my best."

"And I believe you will succeed. I like you, Stirling," said Mr. Leslie frankly, "and I am greatly pleased at the way you have stood in the breach at a critical time, and protected the company's interests. You will continue to draw fifty-five dollars a month, and use your judgment in incurring any expense necessary to keep things running smoothly until we get a new express office built. What is in the safe?"

Bart was familiar with its contents. He itemized them, including some fifty unclaimed parcels of small bulk that had acc.u.mulated during the year.

"Get rid of all that stuff," ordered the superintendent briskly. "I shall advise all the small offices in this division to s.h.i.+p in all their uncalled-for matter. Advertise a sale, make your returns to the company, and start with a new sheet. I think that is all there is any need of discussing at present, but I will send instructions by wire or mail as the occasion comes up. Count me your friend as long as you show the true manhood you have displayed to-day in a situation that would have rattled and frightened most boys--and grown men, too. Good-by."

He was keen, practical business to the core, and no sentiment about him, for he arose promptly with the farewell words, shook hands with Bart in an off-hand way, and was gone like a flash to catch his train to the city.

Bart stood for a moment in a kind of daze. The congratulatory words of the superintendent, and the appointment to the position of agent, stirred the dearest desires of his heart.

His great good fortune momentarily overwhelmed him, and he stood staring silently after the superintendent in a grand dream of opulence and ambition.

"I want you!" spoke a harsh, sudden voice, and Bart Stirling came out of dreamland with a shock.

CHAPTER IX

COLONEL JEPTHA HARRINGTON

The young express agent recognized the tones before he saw the speaker's face. Only one person in Pleasantville had that mixture of lofty command and tragic emphasis, and that was Colonel Jeptha Harrington.

As Bart turned, he saw the village magnate ten feet away, planted like a rock, and extending his big golden-headed cane as if it was a spear and he was poising to immediately impale a victim. The colonel's brow was a veritable thundercloud.

"Yes, sir," announced Bart promptly--"what can I do for you?"