Bart Stirlings Road to Success | Page 9

thinking! Look there--and there!"
The irate old railroader kicked over the wooden cuspidor in disgust. It was loaded to the top with tobacco and cigarette ends. Then he cast out half a dozen empty bottles through the open window, and went on with his grumbling.
"What he's been up to is more than I can guess," he vociferated. "Look at my table there, all burned with matches and covered with burnt cork. What's he been doing with burnt cork? Running a minstrel show?"
Bart gave a start. He thought instantly of the black streaked face he had tried to survey at the express shed window the night previous.
"My flag's gone, too," muttered old Evans, turning over things in a vain search for it. "I'll have a word or two for Lem Wacker when it comes to settling day, I'm thinking. He comes up to the house late last night and tells me he don't care to work for me any longer."
"Did he?" murmured Bart thoughtfully. "Why not, I wonder?"
"Oh, he flared up big and lofty, and said he had a better job in view."
Bart went on his way surmising a good deal and suspecting more.
He made it a point to pass by the ruins of the old express shed, and he found there what he expected to find--the missing flag from the switch shanty; only the rod was bare, the little piece of red bunting having been burned away.
Bart dismissed this matter from his mind and all other disturbing extraneous affairs, massing all his faculties for the time being on getting properly equipped for business.
He selected a clean, plain board, and with the marking outfit painted across it in six-inch letters that could be plainly read at a distance the words:
EXPRESS OFFICE.
This Bart nailed to the door jamb in such a way that it was visible from three directions.
Next he started to carry outside and pile neatly at the blind end of the building all the boards, boxes and other debris littering up the room, swept it, and selected two packing cases and nailed them up into a convenient impromptu desk, manufactured a bench seat out of some loose boards, set his pen, ink and paper in order, and felt quite ready for business.
He had gained a pretty clear idea the day previous from his father as to the Fourth of July express service routine.
The fireworks deliveries had been the main thing, but as these had been destroyed that part of the programme was off the sheet.
At eight o'clock the morning express would bring in its usual quota, but this would be held over until the following day except what was marked special or perishable. There would be no out express matter owing to the fact that it was a holiday.
"I can manage nicely, I think," Bart told himself, as, an hour later, he ran the truck down to the site of the burned express shed and stood by the tracks waiting.
A freight engine soon came to the spot, backing down the express car. Its engineer halted with a jerk and a vivid:
"Hello!"
He had not heard of the fire, and he stared with interest at the ruins as Bart explained that, until some new arrangement was made, express shipments would be accepted and loaded by truck.
There were four big freezers of ice cream, one for delivery at the town confectioner's, one at the drug store soda fountain, and two for the picnic grounds, where an afternoon celebration was on the programme. Besides these, there were three packages containing flags and fireworks, marked "Delayed--Rush."
He closed the office door, tacked to it a card announcing he would return inside of half an hour, and loaded into the wagon the entire morning's freight except the two freezers intended for the picnic grounds.
These could not be delivered until two o'clock that afternoon, and he stowed them in the new express shed, covering them carefully with their canvas wrappings.
Bart made a record run in his deliveries. He had formed a rough receipt book out of some loose sheets, and when he came back to the office filled out his entries in regular form.
Several persons visited the place up to nine o'clock--storekeepers and others who had lost their goods in the fire. Bart explained the situation, saying that they would probably hear from the express company in a day or two regarding their claims.
He found in work something to change his thoughts from a gloomy channel, and, while very anxious about his father, was thankful his parent had escaped with his life, while he indulged some hopeful and daring plans for his own ambitions in the near future.
"I'll stick to my post," he decided. "Some of the express people may happen down here any time."
He was making up a list from memory of those in the village whose packages