Bart Stirling's Road to Success Part 13

"Sure you'll forget It!" he persisted, very much perturbed. "I don't mean my abusing you, or the runaway, or--or--I mean I had an accident after I left you at the express office. Someone hailed me--but you know, you know!"

The colonel cast a penetrating look on Bart, who shook his head negatively.

"I don't know, Colonel," he declared.

"Oh, come, now!" croaked the colonel, making a ghastly attempt to give the statement the aspect of a joke. Honest, you didn't hear anyone call to me?"

"No," replied Bart.

The cab drove up and halted.

"Don't do any talking. Don't start any gossip about--about--of course you won't! I've got your word. You're a truthful, reliable boy, Stirling, and I--I respect you," stumbled on the colonel. "Mum's the word, and I'll--I'll make you no trouble, see?"

"Thank you, Colonel Harrington," said Bart in a queer tone.

The colonel again regarded him penetratingly, and then got into the cab.

He took the trouble of leaning out and waving his hand as the vehicle started up. He smiled in a sickly way at Bart, and once made a movement as if inclined to get out and once more suggest to the young express agent that he "forget it."

"That man is scared half to death over something," reflected Bart, as he took a short cut to regain the express office.

CHAPTER XII

THE MYSTERIOUS MR. BAKER

The little express office looked good to Bart as its precincts again sheltered him.

Things appeared better and clearer to him now than at any time during the past twenty-four hours, and his heart warmed up as he put his papers and books in order, saw that the safe was secured, and decided to close up business for the day.

Doctor Griscom from the hospital had dropped in for a few moments, and brought some news that lifted something of a cloud from the heart of the young express agent.

"I do not want to hold out any false hopes," he told Bart, "but there is a bare possibility that your father may not become totally blind."

"That is blessed news!" cried Bart fervently.

"It is all a question of time, and after that of skill," continued the surgeon. "Your father must have absolute rest and cheerful, comfortable surroundings; above all, peace of mind. I shall watch his case, and when I see the first indication of the services of some skilled specialist being of benefit to him I will tell you. It will cost you some money, but I will do all I can to make the expert reasonable in his charges."

"Don't think of that," said Bart impetuously. "With such a hope in view I am willing to work my finger ends off!"

Bart was, therefore, in high spirits as he left the express office, padlocking the door securely.

He was anxious to get home and then to the hospital, to impart to his mother and father in turn the a.s.surance that they had a bread-winner able to work and glad to do so for their benefit.

Amid the buoyancy of the relief from the continuous strain and troubles of the day, Bart was bent on a quick dash for home when he remembered something that changed his plan.

"The roustabout, the poor fellow that I've got the ten dollars for, the good fellow, if I don't mistake, who saved the books and the contents of the safe!" exclaimed Bart. "Actually, I had forgotten all about him for the moment."

Bart stood still thinking, looking around speculatively, his fingers mechanically touching the bank note in his pocket which Mr. Leslie had given him in trust.

He did not reflect long. He went at once to the freight car whence he had seen the ragged arm extended two hours previous, and looked in.

Back at one end were some broken grapevine crates, and it was dim and shadowy there, so he called out.

"Any one here?"

"Yes," came from the corner, and there was a rustling of straw.

"I guess I know who," said Bart. "Come out of that, my good friend, and show yourself," he continued heartily.

"What for?" propounded a gloomy, wavering voice.

"What for? that's good!" cried Bart. "Oh, I know who you are, if I don't know your name."

"Baker will do."

"All right, Mr. Baker, friend Baker, you're true blue and the best friend I ever had, and I want to shake hands with you, and slap you on the back, and--help you."

A timid, m.u.f.fled figure shifted into full outline, but not into clear view, against the side of the car.

Bart took a step nearer. He promptly caught at one hand of the slouching figure. Then he regarded it in perplexity.

The roustabout held with his other hand a canvas bag on his head so that it concealed nearly his entire face.

"Why!" said Bart, reaching suddenly up and momentarily pulling the impromptu hood aside. "What's the matter now? Where is your beard and long head of hair?"

"Burned."

"False?"

"Yes."

"Then you were disguised?"

"I tried to be," was responded faintly.

Bart stood for a moment or two queerly regarding the roustabout.

"Mr. Baker," he said finally, "I am bound to respect any wish you may suggest, but I declare I can't understand you."

"Don't try to," advised the roustabout in a dreary way. "I'm not worth it."

"Oh, yes, you are."

"And it wouldn't do any good."