"I'll go!" said Colonel Jeptha Harrington, magnate of Pleasantville.
"All right," said Bart Stirling, express company agent.
It was three o'clock in the morning, and the scene was the little express office where so many unusual and exciting happenings had transpired within twenty-four hours.
The colonel's announcement was given in the tone of a man facing a hard proposition and forced to accept it—or something worse.
Bart's reply was calm and off-handed. During a two hours' siege with the military man he had never lost his temper or his wits, and had come off the victor.
When Bart had concluded his very creditable piece of business with Mr. Martin of the pickle factory, he had sent Darry and Bob Haven back to bed, and had forthwith returned to the express office.
Colonel Harrington, scared-looking and sullen, was still there. He seemed to have met his match in the young express agent, and dared not defy him.
Bart found McCarthy, the night watchman, on guard outside, who told him that they had got Lem Wacker clear of the bumpers, had carried him into the express office, made up a rude litter, and had sent for a surgeon.
The latter had just concluded his labors as Bart entered. Lem Wacker lay with his foot bandaged up, conscious, and in no intense pain, for the surgeon had given him some deadening medicine.
"He belongs at the hospital," the surgeon advised Bart. "That foot will have to come off."
"As bad as that!" murmured Bart.
"Yes. I will telephone for the ambulance when I leave here."
"Very well," acquiesced Bart. "Can I speak with the patient?"
"If he will speak with you. He's an ugly, ungrateful mortal!"
Bart went over to the side of the prostrate man.
"Mr. Wacker," he said, "I do not wish to trouble you in your present condition, but something has got to be understood before you leave this place. You go to the hospital as a prisoner or as a patient, just as you elect."
"Pile it on! pile it on!" growled Wacker. "You've got the upper hand, and you'll squeeze me, I suppose. All the same, those who stand back of me will take care of me or I'll explode a bomb that will shatter Pleasantville to pieces!"
Colonel Harrington shuddered at this palpable allusion to himself.
"And I'm going to sue the railroad company for my smashed foot. What do you want?"
"This, Mr. Wacker," pursued Bart quietly, "you have to-night committed a crime that means State's prison for ten years if I make the complaint."
"I'll have a partner in it, all the same!" remarked Wacker grimly.
The colonel groaned.
"You were after a package that belongs to a friend of mine," continued Bart. "I want to know why, and I want to know what you have done with that person."
"Don't you torture me!" cried Wacker irritably—"don't you let him," he blared out to the quacking magnate. "I won't say a word. Let Harrington do as he pleases. He's the king bee! Only, just this, Harrington, you take care of me or I'll blow the whole business."
"Yes, yes," stammered the colonel in a mean, servile way, approaching the litter, "leave it all to me, Wacker. Don't raise a row, Stirling," he pleaded piteously, "don't have him arrested, I'll foot the bill, I'll square everything. This matter must be hushed—yes, yes, hushed up!" hoarsely groaned the military man. "Oh, its dreadful, dreadful!"
Bart felt that he had matters in strong control, spoke a word to McCarthy and, when the ambulance came, allowed them to take Lem Wacker to the hospital.
Then he and Colonel Harrington were alone. The latter was in a pitiable condition of fear and humiliation.
"See here, Stirling," he said finally, "I'll confess the truth. I've done wrong. There's a paper in that package that would mean disgrace for me if it was made public. I'll own to that, but it's over a dead and buried business, and it can do no good to make it public property now. I warn you if it is, I will shoot myself through the head."
Bart doubted if the colonel had the courage to carry out his threat, but he temporized with the great man, got him to make enough admissions to somewhat clear the situation, and the long discussion ended with the announcement by Colonel Harrington that he "would go."
In other words, he confessed that Baker, Bart's friend and the highest bidder for the mysterious express package, was a prisoner in his barn.
In some way Lem Wacker had become aware of Baker's secret, whatever that was, and had helped the colonel in his efforts to suppress Baker and secure possession of the package.
Bart was shocked at this exhibition of cold-blooded villainy on the part of a representative member of the community, although he had never had much use for the pompous, domineering old tyrant, who now led the way through the silent Streets of Pleasantville as meek as a lamb.
He took Bart through the beautiful grounds of his sumptuous home, and to a windowless padlocked room in the loft of the stable.
Poor Baker, his hands secured with stout pieces of wire, arose from a stool with a gleam of hope on his pallid face as Bart followed the colonel into the room.
"See here, Baker—which isn't your name—but it will do—" said the colonel at once, "things have turned your way. Your friend here, young Stirling, has got the whip-hand—I am cornered, and admit it. I want to make a proposition to you, Stirling needn't hear it. When you have decided, we will call him into the room again and he will see that you get your rights. Is that satisfactory?"
"What shall I do?" asked Baker of Bart.
"Hear what Colonel Harrington has to say. If it suits you, settle up this matter as you think right. I am here to see that he does as he promises."
Bart stepped out of the room. There was a continuous hum of conversation for nearly half an hour. Then the colonel opened the door.
"I'm to go into the house to write out something Baker wants," he explained. "Then I'll come back."
"Very well," nodded Bart.
He tried to engage Baker in conversation, but the latter, his hands free now, paced the room nervously, acting like some caged animal.
"I'm afraid of him!" he declared. "I don't know that I am doing what is best. He's a bad man. He begs me to spare him for the sake of his family."
"Is this a matter where settlement will do any injustice to others?" asked Bart.
"None, now—it is past that."
"Then follow the dictates of your own judgment, Mr. Baker," directed Bart, "being sure that you are acting with a clear conscience."
Colonel Harrington, when he returned, brought two documents. Baker looked them over.
"Are they satisfactory?" inquired the colonel anxiously.
"Yes," answered Baker.
"Now understand, there is to be no gossip about this affair?" insisted the magnate.
"I shan't talk," said Baker.
"And I am to have that express package?"
"Give it to him, Stirling."
Bart took the mysterious unclaimed package from his pocket. Colonel Harrington seized it with a satisfied cry.
"You have wronged myself and others deeply, Colonel Harrington," said Baker in a grave, reproachful tone, "but you have made some amends. I forgive you, and I hope you will be a better man."
Bart Stirling was a proud and happy boy as he stood at the door of the express office looking down the tracks of the B. & M.
A new spur was being constructed, and it divided to semi-inclose a substantial foundation which was the start of the new and commodious express office. The blue sky, smiling down on the busy scene, was no more serene than the prospect which the future seemed to offer for the successful young express agent.
With his last reckless crime Lem Wacker had ceased to be a disturbing element at Pleasantville. After two months' confinement he had limped out of the hospital, out of town, and out of Bart Stirling's life.
Colonel Jeptha Harrington himself had left town with the beginning of winter. It was said he intended to make an extended trip in Europe.
With his departure, a new Mr. Baker seemed to spring into existence. Divested of his disguise, no longer a fear-filled roustabout fugitive, Bart's strange friend had found a steady, lucrative position at the hotel, and Bart felt that he had certainly been the means of doing some real good in the world every time he looked at the happy, contented face of his protégé.
Concerning all the details of Baker's past, Bart never knew the entire truth.
Baker felt, however, that it was due to his champion that he explain in the main the mystery of his connection with Colonel Harrington, and he told a strange story.
It seemed that the purse-proud colonel had a poor brother living in another State.
This brother owned a farm on which there lived with him a man named Adams, a widower, and his little daughter, Dorothy.
Adams was a close friend of Samuel Harrington, and out of his earnings saved the place from being taken on a mortgage.
Samuel Harrington always told Adams that he had made a will, and that in case of his sudden death the farm would go to him. He gave Adams a letter certifying to his having a claim of over three thousand dollars against the property, which he told Adams to show to his rich brother when he died, asserting that, although Colonel Harrington had shamefully neglected him, he would never dishonorably repudiate a claim of that kind.
When Samuel Harrington died, his brother appeared, took possession of the farm as only heir, and cruelly drove Mr. Adams and his child from the place.
He tore up the written statement Adams gave him, ridiculed his claims, and, no will being found, sold the place for a song and left Adams an invalid pauper.
Adams had done Baker, or, as his real name was, Albert Baker Mills, a great service once.
Baker, or Mills, supported Adams and his child for a year. Adams spent all his time bemoaning his fate, and haunted the old farm in a search of the will of Samuel Harrington.
One day he did not appear, nor the following. Early on the morning of the third day he staggered into the house, weak and fainting. He was taken down with a fever, was delirious for a week, and at the end of that time died.
Just before his death he tried to tell something about the will. Baker made out that he had found it, that it was at Pleasantville, nothing more.
After his friend's death, Baker wrote a letter to Colonel Harrington. He accused him of his dishonorable conduct, and threatened to publicly expose him if he did not provide in some way for the little orphan, Dorothy, for whom he had found a home with a poor relative.
A week later Colonel Harrington sought out Baker, told him he had trumped up a charge against him that would land him in jail, which Baker later discovered was the truth, and gave him twenty-four hours to leave the country.
From that time the poor fellow was a fugitive, venturing to appear only in disguise at Pleasantville. Adams, it seemed, had found the will and had sent it to Pleasantville addressed to himself, not daring to face the colonel with the important document in his possession, but never living to carry out his plan.
In the settlement with Colonel Harrington, Baker had received a letter exculpating him totally from the trumped up charge, and a check for five thousand dollars, which money was now held in trust by a bank to provide for little Dorothy's future.
Bart felt much gratified over the way all these tangled strands in the warp and woof of his young life had been straightened out, but he experienced a final blessing that filled him with unutterable joy and gratefulness.
A week previous his father had returned from a month's treatment by a city expert oculist.
Robert Stirling came back to Pleasantville a well man.
That was a joyful night at the little Stirling home, when Mr. Stirling once again looked with restored sight upon the faces of the many friends who respected and loved him.
Mr. Stirling, while in the city, had been an invited guest at the home of Mr. Leslie, and the express superintendent had learned a good deal more about his devoted son than he had ever known before.
"Come out of it!" hailed a jolly voice, and Bart was disturbed in his pleasant reverie by the appearance of Darry and Bob Haven.
"It's settled!" cried the latter ecstatically?—"we're going into the regular business at last."
"I don't quite catch on," returned Bart.
"The printing and publishing business," put in Darry. "We have got the money together for a nice little plant, and father and mother are willing that we shall go ahead. Some day you'll see us running a regular newspaper."
"Well, I wish you good luck—you certainly deserve it," answered the young express agent, warmly.
"There is only one drawback," resumed Bob. "We'll have to give up helping you."
"Don't let that bother you. I'll find somebody else. Say, it will be fine to start a regular newspaper," went on Bart. "I guess you'd wake some of the old-timers up—they are so moss-eaten. This town needs a bright, up-to-date sheet."
"We are going to push the printing and publishing business all we can," answered Darry, earnestly. How he and his brother carried out their project I shall relate in another story, to be called, "Working Hard to Win." It was no light undertaking, but the boys entered into it with a vigor that was bound to command success.
"You see, father can help us a good deal," said Bob. "He used to be an editor, you know. And more than that, mother can make us whatever pictures we may need."
"Oh, you'll be right in it, I know," laughed Bart. "When you start your newspaper put me down as the first subscriber. Your subscription money is ready whenever you want it."
At that moment a messenger appeared.
"Letter for you," said he to the young express agent, and hurried about his business.
"From the express people," murmured Bart, tearing open the letter.
As he perused it, such a quick, bright glow flashed into his face and eyes, that the watchful Darry at once surmised that Bart had received a communication out of the ordinary.
"Good news, Bart?" he inquired.
"Read it," said Bart simply, and quick-witted Darry saw that he was almost too overcome to speak further.
The letter was from Mr. Leslie the superintendent, and contained two paragraphs.
The first stated that from the fifteenth of the coming month Mr. Robert Stirling would resume his position as express agent at Pleasantville, thenceforward made a "Class B" station, at a salary of seventy dollars a month.
The second paragraph requested Mr. Bart Stirling to report at headquarters for assignment to duty at a city office as assistant manager.
Darry Haven reached out and caught the hand of his loyal friend in a warm, glad clasp.
"Capital!" he cried enthusiastically—"in line with your motto, Bart Stirling—higher still!"