There had been a good many compliments for the young engineer from the crew of No. 38. The conductor had expressed some gratifying expressions of appreciation from the passengers who had heard of Ralph's thrilling feat at the semaphore. The conductor of the special coach attached to No. 999 had come up and shook hands with Ralph, a choking hoarseness in his throat as he remarked: "It's a honor to railroad with such fellows as you." Fogg had said little. There were many grim realities in railroading he knew well from experience. This was only one of them. After they started from Widener he had given his engineer a hearty slap of the shoulder, and with shining eyes made the remark: "This is another boost for you, Fairbanks." "For No. 999, you mean," smiled Ralph significantly. "We'll hope so, anyway, Mr. Fogg." Wet, grimed, cinder-eyed, but supremely satisfied, they pulled into Bridgeport with a good record, considering the delay at the Gap. The conductor of the special coach laid off there. No. 999 was to get back to Stanley Junction as best she could and as quickly. As she cut loose from the coach its conductor came up with an envelope. "My passengers made up a little donation, Fairbanks," the man said. "There's a newspaper man among them. He's correspondent for some daily press association. Been writing up 'the heroic dash--brave youth at the trestle--forlorn hope of an unerring marksman'--and all that." "Oh, he's not writing for a newspaper," laughed Ralph; "he's making up a melodrama." "Well, he'll make you famous, just the same, and here's some government photographs for you lucky fellows," added the conductor, tossing the envelope in his hand into the cab. Fogg grinned over his share of the fifty-dollar donation and accepted it as a matter of course. Ralph said nothing, but he was somewhat affected. He was pleased at the recognition of his earnest services. At the same time the exploit of the night had shaken his nerves naturally, and reminded him of all the perils that accompanied a practical railroad career. A stern sense of responsibility made him thoughtful and grave, and he had in mind many a brave, loyal fellow whose fame had been unheralded and unsung, who had stuck to his post in time of danger and had given up his life to save others. No. 999 was back at Stanley Junction by eight o'clock the next morning. When Ralph reached home he was so tired out he did not even wait for breakfast, but went straightway to his bed. He came down the stairs in the morning bright as a dollar, to hear his mother humming a happy song in the dining-room, and Fred Porter softly accompanying with a low-toned whistle on the veranda. The latter, waving a newspaper in his hand, made a dash for Ralph. "Look!" he exclaimed, pointing to some sensational headlines. "They've got you in print with a vengeance. A whole column about 'the last heroic exploit of our expert young railroader and rising townsman--Engineer Fairbanks.'" CHAPTER XIX