not be glad to help him get on his feet again. The big fellows of the road will subscribe in a good way, but the workers can't spare a great deal."
"I see," nodded the man. "What are you getting at, though?"
"Just this," explained Ralph. "You get out some special dodgers and announce your opening night as a benefit for Lemuel Fogg, fireman. Offer to donate fifty per cent. of the proceeds to Fogg, and I'll guarantee to crowd your house to the doors."
"Say!" enthused the man, slapping Ralph boisterously on the shoulder, "you're a natural showman. Write me the dodger, will you, and I'll have it over the streets inside of twenty-four hours."
"I'm better at filling in time schedules than composing show bills," said Ralph, "but I'll have a try at this one for my friend's sake."
Ralph went inside and was soon busy with blank paper and pencil, which the showman provided. His composition was a very creditable piece of literary work, and the showman chuckled immensely, and told Ralph that he could consider himself on the free list—"with all his family."
Ralph made a start for home again, but his fixed plans were scheduled for frequent changes, it seemed. An engineer friend, on his way to the roundhouse, met him, and Ralph turned and
