"Feel less hungry, now?" asked the station master, as Tom and Bob entered his office.
"Yes, thank you," replied the latter. "Sweeney surely can cook griddle cakes! I wish he lived out in Fairfax."
"Take him along," laughed Tom, "and start in business. All Sweeney needs is a flame to cook on, and the fixin's."
While they were talking, one of the telegraph operators came in, with a despatch for the agent.
"Here's Jenkins' answer," said he, holding out the sheet of yellow paper.
Taking it, the station master read aloud:
"Robinson, Randolph: Will leave pass as instructed. Square me with the boy, if you can. Buy him all he wants to eat, and I'll settle.
"Jenkins."
At the words proclaiming the conductor's evident anxiety over how Bob felt toward him, they all laughed.
"It'll do Jenkins good to worry a little," commented Tom. Then, as an idea occurred to him, he struck his thigh, and exclaimed: "I say, Jenkins is an awful miser. Let's put up a joke on him. We'll take a dozen of the boys, have a feed at Sweeney's, and charge it to Jenkins."
