Ralph, the Train Dispatcher; Or, The Mystery of the Pay CarChapman, Allen
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Ralph, the Train Dispatcher; Or, The Mystery of the Pay Car
Chapman, Allen
Mystery and detective stories; Railroad stories; Railroads -- Juvenile fiction
"He has some purpose in view in that last direction, believe me, Ralph,"
said Mrs. Fairbanks.
"Yes," replied the son thoughtfully, "I'm beginning to guess out a
certain system in his methods. I shouldn't wonder if something lively
were on the programme. Well, I'll try and put on the enforced vacation
as the superintendent suggests. Hello, there's a fine hullaballoo!"
Ralph walked down the steps and to the street to trace the cause of a
great outcry beyond the cottage grounds. As he passed through the gate
he made out a haggard looking urchin standing on the planking of the
crossing crying as if his heart would break.
"Why, it's Ted Rollins, our little neighbor who lives over near the
flats," said Ralph, recognizing the ragged and begrimed lad.
The latter was half bent over as if squinting through the cracks in the
sidewalk. Then he would let out a yell of distress, dig his fingers into
his eyes, resume his looking, and wind up with a kind of frenzied dance,
bewailing some direful disaster at the top of his voice. Ralph
approached him unobserved.
"Hello, there," he hailed, "what's the trouble here?"
"I've lost it!" wailed the little fellow, without looking up. "It
slipped out of my ha-a-and."
"What did?"
"A nickel."
"A nickel?"
"Yes, I earned it, and it rolled down one of those cracks in the
sidewalk."
"Which one?" inquired Ralph.
"Don't know which one--boo-hoo! and say--it was for you."
For the first time the weeping lad, glancing up through his tears,
recognized Ralph. He instantly dug his hand down into a pocket and began
groping there.
"What was for me?" asked Ralph, "the nickel?"
"No, not the nickel, that was for me. The note was for you, though, that
I got the nickel to fetch--that I don't get the nickel for fetching,
though I fetched it," added Ted Rollins dolefully. "That's it."
The lad brought out a folded creased slip of paper wet with his tears
and grimed with contact with his fingers. He extended this to Ralph.
"For me, eh?" he inquired wonderingly.
"Yes, 'Ralph Fairbanks,' he said. He asked me if I knew Ralph Fairbanks,
and I said you bet I did. 'Why,' says I, 'he's a regular friend of
mine.'"
"That's right, Ted," said Ralph.
"Then he gave me the nickel and the note."
"Who did?"
"The boy."
"What boy?"
"The one I'm telling you about. I never saw him before. He was down near
the elevator tracks where the old switch tower shanty is, you know."
"Why, yes, I know," assented Ralph, "but I can't imagine who the note
can be from. Oh, I understand now," added Ralph, his eye brightening as
he opened the note and caught a glimpse of the signature. "Here, Ted,
there's a dime for your faithfulness, and maybe you can find a chum with
a big axe who will pry up a few of those sidewalk spikes, and if you
find the lost nickel you can have that, too."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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