disturbed when he learned that it was Fred Porter, whom he had met several times.
"I'd like to tell you a whole lot, Ralph, but I can't do it!" Zeph had burst out. "Say, one thing, though; I'm going to tell my employer about Fred Porter being so anxious to see him, and you can write to Porter and tell him that his friend is all right and safe, if you want to. What's that address—I may get around to Porter myself."
Ralph told Zeph. That same evening the latter left Stanley Junction, and Ralph had not heard from him since, nor did he receive word from Fred. Temporarily, at least, Zeph, Fred and the railroad president's son, Marvin Clark, the "Canaries" and all the peculiar mystery surrounding them, seemed to have drifted out of the life of the young engineer.
No. 999 was about ready to start on her daily trip when the stranger designated as Lord Montague had appeared. As he stood against the tender bar and seemed to commune with himself on the crudity of American locomotive cabs, Ralph leaned from the window and hailed a friend.
"I say, Graham," he observed, "you seem particularly active and restless this morning."
Ralph had reason for the remark. The young inventor had been very little care to his sponsor and friend during the past week. Given free
