of business expansion adopted by the Great Northern. That road had acquired new branches during the past year, and was becoming a big system of itself. There was talk about a consolidation with another line, which might enable the road to arrange for traffic clear to the Pacific. New splendid train service was talked of everywhere, among the workmen, and every ambitious railroader was looking for a handsome and substantial promotion.
Ralph could not tell until he reported at the roundhouse after twelve o'clock when and how he would start out again. On the Bridgeport run he was not due until the next morning. All he was sure of was that he and Fogg were regulars for No. 999 wherever that locomotive was assigned, until further orders interfered. Despite the successful record run to Bridgeport, somebody was listed for at least a "call-down" on account of the accident on the siding at Plympton. Every time Ralph thought of that, he recollected his "find" in Lemuel Fogg's bunker, and his face became grave and distressed.
"It's bound to come out," he reflected, as he strolled into the neat, attractive garden after breakfast. "Why, Mr. Griscom—I'm glad to see you."
His old railroad friend was passing the house
