“Ralph Fairbanks.”

“On hand, sir.”

“You are to relieve Fireman Cooper on the Dover slow freight.”

“All right, sir.”

Ralph Fairbanks arose from the bench on which he was seated in the roundhouse at Stanley Junction.

Over a dozen men had been his companions for the past hour.  There were engineers waiting for their runs, firemen resting after getting their locomotives in order, and “extras,” who, like the young railroader himself, were so far on the substitute list only.

Ralph was glad of his appointment.  This was his second month of service as a fireman.  It had been by no means regular employment, and, as he was industrious and ambitious, he was glad to get at work with the prospect of a steady run.

The foreman of the roundhouse had just turned from his desk after marking Ralph’s name on the list when a man hurriedly entered the place.  He was rather unsteady in his gait, his face was flushed, and he looked dissolute and unreliable.

“Give me the slow freight run, Forgan,” he panted.  “I’m listed next.”

“Two minutes late,” observed the foreman, in a business-like way.

“That don’t count on a stormy night like this.”

“System counts in this establishment always, Jim Evans,” said Mr. Forgan.

“I ran all the way.”

“Stopped too long at the corner saloon, then,” put in Dave Adams, a veteran engineer of the road.

Evans glared at the man who spoke, but recognizing a privileged character, stared down the row of loiterers and demanded: 

“Who’s got my run?”

“Do you own any particular run, Jim?” inquired Adams, with a grin.

“Well, Griscom’s was due me.”

“Young Fairbanks was on hand, so it’s his run now.”

“That kid’s,” sneered Evans, turning on Ralph with angry eyes.  “See here, young fellow, do you think it’s square cutting in on a regular man this way?”

“I’ll answer that,” interposed Tim Forgan sharply.  “He was here, you weren’t.  He holds the run till a better man comes along.”

Evans stood glaring at Ralph for a few minutes.  Then he moved to the youth’s side.

“See here, kid,” he observed, “I want this run specially.  It’ll be a regular, for Cooper is going with another road.  I’m a man and must earn a man’s wages.  You’re only a kid.  I’ve got a family.  Come, give me the run and I’ll treat you handsomely,” and the speaker extended a cigar.

“Thank you, I don’t smoke,” said Ralph.  Then looking the man squarely in the eyes, he said:  “Mr. Evans, I’ll give up the run on one condition.”

“What’s that?” inquired Evans eagerly.

“If you will sign the pledge, work steadily, and give your wages to your family as you should do.”

“I’ll do it!” shouted Evans, not a whit shame-facedly.

“No, you won’t,” announced Forgan.  “Fairbanks, kindness is kindness, but business is business.  If you drop this run, it goes to the next extra on the list according to routine.”

“Bah, you’re all down on me!” flared out Evans, and left the place in a rage.

“It would do no good, Fairbanks, to help that man,” observed Dave Adams.  “He would sign anything to secure a personal advantage and never keep his word.  He squanders all his money and won’t last long in the Great Northern, I can tell you.”

Ralph went outside as he heard a whistle down the rails.  Evans was standing near a switch.

“Some kind of a plot, eh, you and your friend?” he sneered at Ralph.

“I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Evans,” replied Ralph.

“Oh, yes, you do.  Forgan is partial to you.  The others don’t like me because I’m a crack man in my line.  One word, though; I’ll pay you off for this some time or other,” and Evans left the spot shaking his fist at Ralph menacingly.

“One of the bad kind,” mused Ralph, looking after the fellow, “not at all fit for duty half the time.  Here comes one of the good kind,” he added as a freight engine with a long train of cars attached steamed up at the roundhouse.  “It’s my run, Mr. Griscom.”

“That’s famous news,” cried old John Griscom, genuinely pleased.

“Good evening, Mr. Cooper,” said Ralph, as the fireman leaped from the cab.

“Hello,” responded the latter.  “You got the run?  Well, it’s a good man in a good man’s place.”

“That’s right,” said Griscom.  “None better.  In to report, Sam?  Good-bye.  Shovel in the coal, lad,” the speaker directed Ralph.  “It’s a bad night for railroading, and we’ll have a hard run to Dover.”

Ralph applied himself to his duties at once.  He opened the fire door, and as the ruddy glow illuminated his face he was a picture pleasant to behold.

Muscular, healthy, in love with his work, friendly, earnest and accommodating, Ralph Fairbanks was a favorite with every fair-minded railroad man on the Great Northern who knew him.

Ralph had lived at Stanley Junction nearly all of his life.  His early experiences in railroading have been related in the first volume of the present series, entitled “Ralph of the Roundhouse.”

Ralph’s father had been one of the pioneers who helped to build the Great Northern.  When he died, however, it was found that the twenty thousand dollars’ worth of stock in the road he was supposed to own had mysteriously disappeared.

Further, his home was mortgaged to old Gasper Farrington, a wealthy magnate of the village.  This person seemed to have but one object in life; to drive the widow Fairbanks and her son from Stanley Junction.

Ralph one day overheard Farrington threaten to foreclose a mortgage, and the youth suddenly realized his responsibilities.  Leaving school, he secured a job in the roundhouse at Stanley Junction.  Here, notwithstanding the plots, hatred and malice of a worthless, good-for-nothing fellow named Ike Slump, whose place he took, Ralph made fine progress.  He saved the railroad shops from wholesale destruction, by assisting John Griscom to run an engine into the flames and drive a car of powder out of the way.  For this brave deed Ralph secured the friendship of the master mechanic of the road and was promoted to the position of junior leverman.

In the second volume of this series, entitled “Ralph in the Switch Tower,” another vivid phase of his ability and merit has been depicted.  He rendered signal service in saving a special from disaster and prevented a treasure train from being looted by thieves.

Among the thieves was his old-time enemy, Ike Slump, and a crony of his named Mort Bemis.  They had been hired by Farrington to harass Ralph in every way possible.  Ralph had searched for the motive to the old man’s animosity.

He learned that Farrington had appropriated his father’s railroad stock on an illegal technicality, and that the mortgage on their homestead had once been paid by Mr. Fairbanks.

Once knowing this, Ralph undertook the task of proving it.  It required some clever work to unmask the villainous miser, but Ralph succeeded, and Farrington, to escape facing disgrace, left the town, ostensibly for Europe.

In unmasking the old man Ralph was assisted by one Van Sherwin, a poor boy whom he had befriended.  Van and a former partner of Gasper Farrington, named Farwell Gibson, had secured a charter to build a short line railroad near Dover, in which project Ralph was very much interested.

As has been said, Ralph had now been a fireman for two months, but heretofore employed in yard service only.

“It’s the chance of my life,” he cried cheerily, as he piled in the coal, “and what a famous partner is dear, bluff, honest old John Griscom!”

“Won’t have me for a partner long, lad,” replied the veteran engineer with a slight sigh, as he moved the lever.

“Why not, Mr. Griscom?” inquired Ralph.

“Eyes giving out.  Had to drop the Daylight Express.  I’m going down the ladder, you are going up the ladder.  Stick to your principles, lad, for they are good ones, as I well know, and you’ll surely reach the top.”

“I hope so.” said Ralph.

The locomotive gave a sharp signal whistle, and the slow freight started on its night run for Dover.