"Exactly," confessed Bart. "I believe I am getting superstitious about anything connected with the Harringtons or the Wackers. Here, give me a lift." "All right. Where?" "Swing it up--I want to get it on top of the safe." "What!" ejaculated Darry in profound amazement. "Yes, we don't handle property in the thousands every day in the week." "But the company is responsible only up to fifty dollars, when they don't pay excess." "That doesn't satisfy the shipper if there is any loss. I feel we ought to be extra careful until we get a new office with proper safeguards, and that expensive outfit staying here all night worries me. Up--hoist!" Bart settled the trunk on top of the safe, and on top of that he set the lantern. When he locked up for the night he lit the lantern, and went over to the freight platform where the night watchman had just come on duty. Bart knew him well and liked him, and the feeling was reciprocal. He explained that a valuable trunk had to remain overnight in the express shed, and how he had placed it. "Just take a casual glance over there on your rounds, will you, Mr. McCarthy?" he continued. "I certainly will. You set the lantern so it shows things inside, and I'll keep an eye open," acquiesced the watchman. Bart went home feeling satisfied and relieved at the arrangement he had made. All the same he did not sleep well that night. About daybreak he woke up with a sudden jump, for he had dreamed that Colonel Harrington had thrown him into a deep pit, and that Lem Wacker was dropping Mrs. Harrington's precious trunk on top of him. CHAPTER XV AN EARLY "CALL" The young express agent was conscious that he shouted outright in his nightmare, for the trunk he was dreaming about as it struck him seemed to explode into a thousand pieces. The echoes of the explosion appeared to still ring in his ears, as he sat up and pulled himself together. Then he discovered that it was a real sound that had awakened him. "Only five," he murmured, with a quick glance at the alarm clock on the bureau--"and someone at the front door!" Rat, tat, tat! it was a sharp, distinct summons. "Why," continued Bart briskly, jumping out of bed and hurrying on some clothes, "it's Jeff!" Jeff was "the caller" for the roundhouse. He was a feature in the B. & M. system, and for ten years had pursued his present occupation. "Something's up," ruminated Bart a little excitedly, as he ran down the stairs and opened the front door. "What is it, Jeff?" "Wanted," announced the laconic caller. "By whom?" "McCarthy, down at the freight house." "What's wrong?" "He didn't tell---just asked me to get you there quick as your feet could carry you." "Thank you, Jeff, I'll lose no time." Bart hurried into his clothes. Clear of the house, he ran all the way to the railroad yards. As he rounded into them from Depot Street, he came in sight of the express office. McCarthy, the night watchman, was seated on the platform looking down in a rueful way.