banks, for my wages will only settle what board I owe you, and there's that last suit of clothes you got for me, not paid for yet"
"Don't trouble yourself about that, Zeph," interrupted Ralph kindly. "You're honest, and you'll pay when you can. You may keep what money you have for a new start until you get to work again."
Zeph looked grateful. Then Ralph gave some details of the record run to Bridgeport, there was some general conversation, and he went to bed.
Ralph had asked his mother to call him at nine o'clock in the morning, but an hour before that time there was a tap at the door of the bedroom.
"Ralph, dear," spoke up his mother, "I dislike to disturb you, but a messenger boy has just brought a telegram, and I thought that maybe it was something of importance and might need immediate attention."
"That's right, mother. I will be down stairs in a minute," answered the young railroader, and he dressed rapidly and hurried down to the sitting room, where his mother stood holding out to him a sealed yellow envelope. Ralph tore it open. He looked for a signature, but there was none. It was a night message dated at Bridgeport, the evening previous, and it ran:
