READY FOR BUSINESS
Bart Stirling stood ruefully regarding the ruins of the burned express
shed. It was the Fourth of July, and early as it was, the air was
resonant with the usual echoes of Independance Day.
Bart, however, was little in harmony with the jollity and excitement of
the occasion. He had spent a sleepless night, tossing and rolling in bed
until daybreak, when his mother returned from the hospital.
Mr. Stirling was resting easily, she reported, in very little pain or
discomfort, but his career of usefulness and work was over--the doctors
expressed an opinion that he would never regain his eyesight.
Mrs. Stirling was pale and sorrowed. She had grown older in a single
night, but the calm resignation in her gentle face assured Bart that
they would be of one mind in taking up their new burdens of life in a
practical, philosophical way.
"Poor father!" he murmured brokenly. Then he added: "Mother, I want you
to go in and get some rest, and try not to take this too hard. I will
attend to everything there is to do about the express office."
"I don't see what there can be to do," she responded in surprise.
"Everything is burned up, your father will never be able to resume his
position. We are through with all that, I fancy."
"There is considerable to do," asserted Bart in a definite tone that
instantly attracted his mother's attention because of its seriousness.
"Father is a bonded employee of the express service. Their business
doesn't stop because of an accidental fire, and they have a system to
look after here that must not be neglected. I know the ropes pretty
well, thanks to father, and I think it a matter of duty to act just as
he would were he able to be about, and further and protect the company's
interests. Outside of that, mother," continued the boy, earnestly, "you
don't suppose I am going to sit down idly and let things drift at
haphazard, with the family to take care of and everything to be done to
make it easy and comfortable for father."
A look of pride came into the mother's face. She completely recognized
the fidelity and sense of her loyal son, allowed Bart to lead her into
the house, and tried to be calm and cheerful when he bade her good-bye,
and, evading celebrating groups of his boy friends, made his way down to
the ruined express shed.
A heap of still smouldering cinders and ashes marked the site. Bart
stood silently ruminating for some minutes. He tried to think things out
clearly, to decide how far he was warranted in acting for his father.
"I don't exactly know what action the express people usually take in a
case of this kind," he reflected, "nor how soon they get about it. I can
only wait for some official information. In the meantime, though,
somebody has got to keep the ball rolling here. I seem to be the only
one about, and I am going to put the system in some temporary order at
least. If I'm called down later for being too officious, they can't say
I didn't try to do my duty."
Bart set briskly at work to put into motion a plan his quick, sensible
mind had suggested.
About one hundred feet away was a rough unpainted shed-like structure.
He remembered the time, several years back, when the express office had
been located there.
It was, however, forty feet from any tracks, and for convenience sake,
when the railroad gave up the burned building which they had occupied
for unclaimed freight storage, it had been turned over to the express
people.
Bart went down to the old quarters. The door had lost its padlock and
stood half open. Inside was a heap of old boards, and empty boxes and
barrels thrown there from time to time to keep them from littering the
yards.
A truck and the little delivery cart, being outside of the burned shed,
Bart found intact. He ran them down to the building he had determined to
utilize, temporarily at least, as express headquarters for
Pleasantville.
The yards were fairly deserted except for a sleepy night watchman here
and there. It was not yet seven o'clock, but when Bart reached the
in-freight house he found it open and one or two clerks hurrying through
their work so as to get off for the day at ten.
There was a good deal of questioning, for they knew of the fire, and
knew Bart as well, and liked him, and when he made his wants known
willing hands ministered to his needs.
Bart carried back with him a hammer and some nails, a broom, a marking
pot and brush, pens, ink and a couple of tabs of paper.
As he neared the switch shanty where Lem Wacker had been on duty the day
previous, he noticed that it had been opened up since he had passed it
last. Some one was grumbling noisily inside. Bart was curious for more
reasons than one.
He placed his load on the bench outside and stuck his head in through
the open doorway.
"Oh, it's you, Mr. Evans," he hailed, as he recognized the regular
flagman on duty for whom Wacker had been substituting for three days
past. "Glad to see you back. Are you all well?"
"Eh? oh, young Stirling. Say, you've had a fire. I hear your father was
burned."
"He is quite seriously hurt," answered Bart gravely.
"Too bad. I have troubles of my own, though."
"What is the matter, Mr. Evans?"
"Next time I give that lazy, good-for-nothing Lem Wacker work he'll
know it, I'm 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 had been destroyed by the fire, when two boys crossed the
threshold of the open doorway, one carrying a thin flat package.
Bart greeted them pleasantly. The elder was Darry Haven, his companion a
younger brother, Bob, both warm friends of the young express agent.
Darry inquired for Mr. Stirling solicitously, and said his mother was
then on her way to see Mrs. Stirling, anxious to do anything she could
to share the lady's troubles. Mr. Haven had been an editor, but his
health had failed, and Mrs. Haven, having some artistic ability and
experience, was the main present support of the family, doing
considerable work for a publishing house in the city in the way of
illustrations for fashion pages.
Darry had a "rush" package of illustrations under his arm now.
"I suppose we can't get anything through to-day, or until you get things
in running order again?" he intimated.
"We were sending nothing through on account of the Fourth," explained
Bart, "but you leave the package here and I will see that it goes on
the eleven o'clock train."
Bart had just completed the fire-loss list when a heavy step caused him
to turn around.
A portly, well-dressed man, important-appearing and evidently on
business, stood in the doorway looking sharply about the place.
"Well!" he uttered, "What's this?"
"The express office," said Bart, arising.
"Oh, it is?" slowly commented the man, "You in charge?"
"Yes, sir," politely answered Bart.
"Set up shop; doing business, eh?"
"Fast as I can," announced Bart.
"Who told you to?" demanded the visitor bending a pair of stern eyes on
Bart.
"Why do you ask that, may I inquire?" interrogated Bart, pleasantly, but
standing his ground.
"Ha-hum!" retorted the stranger, "why do ask. Because I am the
superintendent of the express company, young man, and somewhat
interested in knowing, I fancy!"