If Rod Blake had only known the number of the caboose for which he was searching, he could easily have learned what had happened to it.  Soon after he left it, while it was being switched on to a siding, one of its draw-bars became broken, and it had been sent to the repair shop, a mile or so away, to be put in condition for going out again that night.  He had not thought of looking at its number, though; for he had yet to learn that on a railroad everything goes by numbers instead of by names.  A few years ago all locomotives bore names, such as “Flying Cloud,” “North Wind,” etc., or were called after prominent men; but now they are simply numbered.  It is the same with cars, except sleepers, drawing-rooms, and a few mail cars.  Trains are also numbered, odd numbers being given to west or south bound, and even numbers to east or north bound trains.  Thus, while a passenger says he is going out by the Chicago Limited, the Pacific Express, or the Fitchburg Local, the railroad man would say that he was going on N, 3, or 5, as the case might be.  The sections, from three to eight miles long, into which every road is divided, are numbered, as are all its bridges.  Even the stations are numbered, and so are the tracks.

All this Rodman discovered afterwards; but he did not know it then, and so he was only bewildered by the switchman’s questions.  For a few minutes he stood irresolute, though keeping a sharp lookout for the hurrying switch engines, and moving cars that, singly or in trains, were flying in all directions about him, apparently without any reason or method.  Finally he decided to follow out his original plan of going to the superintendent’s office and asking for employment.  By inquiry he found that it was located over the passenger station, nearly a mile away from where he stood.  When he reached the station, and inquired for the person of whom he was in search, he was laughed at, and told that the “super” never came to his office at that time of day, nor until two or three hours later.  So, feeling faint for want of breakfast, as well as tired and somewhat discouraged, the boy sat down in the great bustling waiting-room of the station.

At one side of the room was a lunch-counter, from which the odor of newly-made coffee was wafted to him in the most tantalizing manner.  What wouldn’t he give for a cup at that moment?  But there was no use in thinking of such things; and so he resolutely turned his back upon the steaming urn, and the tempting pile of eatables by which it was surrounded.  In watching the endless streams of passengers steadily ebbing and flowing past him, he almost forgot the emptiness of his stomach.  Where could they all be going to, or coming from?  Did people always travel in such overwhelming numbers, that it seemed as though the whole world were on the move, or was this some special occasion?  He thought the latter must be the case, and wondered what the occasion was.  Then there were the babies and children!  How they swarmed about him!  He soon found that he could keep pretty busy, and win many a grateful smile from anxious mothers, by capturing and picking up little toddlers who would persist in running about and falling down right in the way of hurrying passengers.  He also kept an eye on the old ladies, who were so flustered and bewildered, and asked such meaningless questions of everybody, that he wondered how they were ever to reach their destinations in safety.

One of these deposited a perfect avalanche of little bags, packages, and umbrellas on the seat beside him.  Several of them fell to the floor, and Rod was good-naturedly picking them up when he was startled by the sound of a clear, girlish voice that he knew as well as he knew his own, directly behind him.  He turned, with a quickly beating heart, and saw Eltje Vanderveer.  She was walking between her father and Snyder Appleby.  They had already passed without seeing him, and had evidently just arrived by an early morning train from Euston.

Rod’s first impulse was to run after them; and, starting to do so, he was only a step behind them when he heard Snyder say:  “He must have money, because he refused a hundred dollars that the Major offered him.  At any rate we’ll hear from him soon enough if he gets hard up or into trouble.  He isn’t the kind of a-

But Rod had already turned away, and what he wasn’t, in Snyder’s opinion, he never knew.

He had hardly resumed his seat, when there was a merry jingle on the floor beside him, and a quantity of silver coins began to roll in all directions.  The nervous old lady of the bags and bundles had dropped her purse, and now she stood gazing at her scattered wealth, the very image of despair.

“Never mind, ma’am,” said Rod, cheerily, as he began to capture the truant coins.  “I’ll have them all picked up in a moment.”  It took several minutes of searching here and there, under the seats, and in all sorts of out-of-the-way hiding places, before all the bits of silver were recovered, and handed to their owner.

She drew a great sigh of relief as she counted her money and found that none was lost.  Then, beaming at the boy through her spectacles, she said:  “Well, thee is an honest lad; and, if thee’ll look after my bags while I get my ticket, and then help me to the train, I’ll give thee a quarter.”

Rod was on the point of saying, politely:  “I shall be most happy to do anything I can for you, ma’am; but I couldn’t think of accepting pay for it,” when the thought of his position flashed over him.  A quarter would buy him a breakfast, and it would be honorably earned too.  Would it not be absolutely wrong to refuse it under the circumstances?  Thus thinking, he touched his cap, and said:  “Certainly I will do all I can to help you, ma’am, and will be glad of the chance to earn a quarter.”

When the old lady had procured her ticket, and Rod had received the first bit of money he had ever earned in his life by helping her to a comfortable seat in the right car, she would have detained and questioned him, but for her fear that he might be carried off.  So she bade him hurry from the car as quickly as possible, though it still lacked nearly ten minutes of the time of starting.

The hungry boy knew well enough where he wanted to go, and what he wanted to do, now.  In about three seconds after leaving the car he was seated at the railroad lunch-counter, with a cup of coffee, two hard-boiled eggs, and a big hot roll before him.  He could easily have disposed of twice as much; but prudently determined to save some of his money for another meal, which he realized, with a sigh, would be demanded by his vigorous appetite before the day was over.

To his dismay, when he asked the young woman behind the counter how much he owed for what he had eaten, she answered, “Twenty-five cents, please.”  He thought there must be some mistake, and asked her if there was not; but she answered:  “Not at all.  Ten cents for coffee, ten for eggs, and five for the roll.”  With this she swept Rod’s solitary quarter into the money-drawer, and turned to wait on another customer.

“Well, it costs something to live,” thought the boy, ruefully, as he walked away from the counter.  “At that rate I could easily have eaten a dollar’s worth of breakfast, and I certainly sha’n’t choose this for my boarding place, whatever happens.”