Bound To Succeed Part 21

"Sure, will I," cried the flagman. "We're a whole family of friends to you, boy."

"All right. Have you got a piece of chalk--the kind they use for marking on the cars?"

"Dozens of it. Here's a handful, my hearty," and the flagman darted into the little shanty and out again with a fistful of great chunks of chalk.

"All right," said Markham, selecting a piece. "Now then, do you see that man coming down the track?"

"Yes," nodded the flagman.

"He will ask you about the out freights, maybe about some particular car.

It's the car holding Frank Newton's furniture that he's after--their household goods they're shipping to Pleasantville."

"Aha," nodded Boyce.

"I will be in sight," went on Markham, rapidly. "Point me out to him.

Say I can tell him, will you?"

"But what for--no, that's all right. I will, I will," pledged the flagman.

Markham ran down a siding. He was busy about a certain car for a few minutes. As, after interviewing the flagman, Sherry came that way, he discovered Markham seated on top of a locked box car idly kicking his heels against its side.

"Hey, h.e.l.lo," hailed Sherry--"this the out freights?"

"How should I know?" muttered Markham.

"Oh, I know you. You're the fellow who trains with young Newton. Of course you'd be here, and of course this is the car. Yes," decided Sherry, scanning its side. "Sure. Here's the destination marked in chalk."

Sherry read the sprawling writing: "7-23, Pleasantville," marked across the locked door of the car, and pulled out a doc.u.ment.

"That's the way we do it," he said in a boastful chuckle, picking up a coupling pin and using it to hammer some tacks through the paper. "There you are. In the name of the law this car seized in transit, ipse dixit, e pluribus unum, according to the statoots therein pervided. Quite a lawyer, hey? Boy, it's a life sentence to tamper with that car till the judge says move her."

"It is?" said Markham, tranquilly.

The big braggart swaggered away. Markham jumped down, watched him out of sight, jumped up and cracked his heels together. Then with his handkerchief he rubbed off the destination mark that had deluded old Dorsett's boisterous and self-important emissary.

Then Markham chuckled as he glanced at the doc.u.ment tacked to the car door. He now moved over to a line of made-up freights on another track.

He lingered in their vicinity for over an hour.

When he had seen an engine run on a caboose and then switch to the head of the train, Markham, with a good deal of complacency in his face, started back to join his friends.

As he neared the house where he had left Mrs. Ismond and Frank, he noticed a man leave the place. It was Sherry.

"All right," announced Markham, breaking in upon his friends a moment later. "I've found out what old Dorsett is up to."

"Yes, so have we," answered Frank, who stood by the side of his mother, who was looking down dejectedly. "They have just notified us that the car containing our furniture is attached."

"That so?" said Markham, with a broad smile. "Well, what are you going to do, Frank?"

"We can't leave Greenville, that's all," said Frank, with a sigh.

"Mother, I'll go down to the station and get the money back for our tickets."

"Hold on," cried Markham, "you won't do any such thing. How soon does that train leave, Frank?"

"In half an hour."

"Well, get your traps together. You're going to take that train all right."

"Why, what are you talking about?" demanded Frank, staring at Markham in wonder.

"I mean that fellow who was just here has made a mess of it," said Markham. "He's attached a car all right, but not your car."

"What?"

"No, sir-ree! Your car, my dear Frank, I am happy to tell you, is by this time twenty miles over the county line whirling on its way to Pleasantville. Hip, hip, hurrah!"

"See here, Markham," said Frank, seriously, seizing his friend's arm in an endeavor to cure his jubilant antics. "What have you been up to."

"Me? Nothing," declared Markham, a.s.suming the vacant b.u.mpkin look he expressed so well when he gave a character delineation. "It's old Dorsett's emissary who was up to something--up to the wrong car, see? He has tacked that attachment notice onto a poor innocent old car filled with ballasting cinders. Never mind now. I'll tell you later. Don't miss the train, Frank."

There were hurried good-byes to their kind-hearted neighbor. Frank and Markham, each carrying two satchels, piloted Mrs. Ismond to the railroad station.

Just as the train came in from the south a man drove past the depot platform. He drew up his horse with a jerk. It was Dorsett.

He stared in amazement at the departing trio. Then suddenly, as if suspecting some trick, he got out of his gig and hurried across to the train.

Frank had got his mother to a comfortable seat. The coach window was open.

"You leave at your peril, widow Ismond," shouted Dorsett. "That stuff of yours is attached. We've stopped the freight car, and--"

"All aboard!" sang out the conductor.

"Hold on, stop--zounds!" yelled Dorsett at the top of his voice.

He was lifted from his feet suddenly. Some one rushing down the platform at cyclone speed had collided with him.

It was Nelson Cady. He was hatless, his hair flying in the wind, his whole appearance that of fearful excitement.

"Say, conductor," he panted out breathlessly. "Three people just got on the train--where are they? Must see Frank Newton!"

"Hi, there, Nelson," hailed Frank, waving his hand through the open coach window.

"Oh, jolly!" shouted Nelson, keeping on a run with the moving train.

"See Frank!"

Nelson tugged at his pocket. He pulled out a white, fluttering sheet of paper.

"Frank, Frank," his excited tones rang out after the vanishing train--"I've got my letter at last!"