"Don't trouble yourself about me, young man," she observed crisply. "I'm able to take care of myself."
"I see you are, madam."
"I've run an ore dummy in my time, when my husband was head yardman at an iron works, and I know how to climb. See here," she demanded imperatively, fixing a keen look on the young railroader, "are you boss here?"
"Why, you might say so," answered Ralph. "That is, I am in charge here."
The woman put down her umbrella to adjust her bonnet. Ralph observed that the umbrella was in tatters and the ribs all broken and twisted. He comprehended that it was with this weapon that she had just assaulted Mort Bemis.
"If you're the boss," pursued the woman, "I'm Mrs. Davis—Mort Bemis' landlady, and I want to know what I've got to do to get twenty-six dollars thet he owes me for board and lodging for the last six weeks."
"I see," nodded Ralph—"slow pay, that fellow."
"No pay at all!" flashed out the woman wrathfully. "He came to me month before last with a great story of promotion, big salary, and all his back funds tied up in a savings bank at Springfield. Last pay day he claimed someone robbed
