"Don't you speak of it!" shot out the fireman fiercely. "It's over and done, isn't it? Let it drop." "All right," laughed Ralph genially. "Say, I saw a dispatch in the Bridgeport paper to-day from Stanley Junction that ought to make you feel pretty good." "Did?" snapped Fogg, determinedly antagonistic and stubbornly keeping his face turned away. "Yes. It gave the list of names of those in our district who passed an examination as school teachers." Ralph observed that a tremor ran through the fireman's frame at this intelligence. "Who--who was in it?" he questioned, his voice hoarse and tense. "Two from the Junction." "Two?" "Yes, and the one who led with the highest average was your daughter, Nellie." "I--I don't deserve it!" fairly sobbed the fireman, getting up suddenly and striving to hide his emotion. "Boy!" and he trembled all over as he now faced Ralph, "I'm steamed up again, as you can plainly see. I won't deny it, but I had to, I couldn't fire a mile unless I steamed up, but I'll say one thing with truth--I've got no bottle in the cab." "That's good, Mr. Fogg," said Ralph. "And never will have again, and you've seen the last signs of the dirty stuff on me. I'm going home to make a new start." "Heaven bless you in your new resolution, Mr. Fogg!" cried Ralph, his own tones none too steady. "I'll--I'll have something to say to you after we get home," continued Fogg. "Just leave me alone till then." Something was working on the mind of the fireman, this was very plain--something for good, Ralph fervently hoped. The young engineer took his cue promptly. During all the trip to Stanley Junction he avoided all conversation except commonplace routine remarks. Up to the time of leaving Bridgeport Ralph had waited expectantly for some sign of the youth he had known as Marvin Clark. Clark or Porter, his new acquaintance did not put in an appearance, nor did Dave Bissell return. "Dave did not succeed in finding him," decided Ralph, as No. 999 started up. "I'm sorry." Dave had been pretty positive as to the identity of his cousin, and the elusive actions of his relative seemed to verify his recognition. "Traveling under false colors, I fear," reflected the young engineer. "A pretty bold and difficult imposture, I should think. Are his credentials false or stolen? But how to explain his motive? He doesn't like railroading, and the system and the vouchers he is at so much trouble to get and preserve make this business decidedly mysterious. If it wasn't for those features, I would feel it my duty to report the affair and notify the real Marvin Clark, if there is one."