"HIGHER STILL!"
About eight o'clock that evening Bart came down to the express office
carrying a lunch basket and a blanket, as he had promised his erratic
friend, Mr. Baker.
The young express agent had spent a busy day, and the evening promised
to continue to furnish plenty for him to do.
He had the infinite pleasure of seeing his mother's face brighten up
magically, when he related sufficient to her of the day's experience to
satisfy her that the revenue from the express business was secure.
She had received some intimation of this from her husband's lips an hour
previous at the hospital, and said that Mr. Stirling was feeling
relieved and hopeful over the visit of the express superintendent, and
the prospects of Bart succeeding to his position.
Bart very much wished to visit his father at once, but Mrs. Stirling
said he had quieted for the night, was in no pain or mental distress,
and it might not be wise to disturb him.
Bart told his mother something about the roustabout and their friendly
relations, and the bottle of hot coffee, home-made biscuit sandwiches,
and half a pie were put up for Bart's pensioner with willing and
grateful care.
Bart also took a shade lantern with him, and lighted it when he came to
the express office. He found the padlock loose.
He glanced over to the far dim end of the place. Baker had built a
regular cross-corner barricade of packing boxes, man-high.
Bart set the lantern on the bench and approached the roustabout's
hide-out.
"Are you there, Mr. Baker?" he inquired.
"Yes, I did just as you told me to do," came the reply, but the speaker
did not show himself.
"Well, here's a blanket. Can you make up a comfortable bed?"
"Oh, yes, I've got a broad board on a slant, and plenty of room."
Bart lifted over the lunch basket.
"There you are!" he said briskly--"now enjoy yourself, and don't take a
single care about anything. Have you made out that list of things you
want?"
"Yes, here it is," and Baker handed over a piece of paper inclosing the
ten-dollar bill.
"I'll attend to this promptly," said Bart. "Supposing I look it over
right here? There may be some things you have noted down I want to ask
you about."
"Maybe you'd better," assented Baker.
Bart sat down near the lantern. The bit of paper was covered with crude
handwriting, the same as that which had announced to him that afternoon
that the contents of the safe in the old express shed ruins were safe.
The list was not a very long one, but it was not easy to fill.
Baker gave the measurements of a very cheap cotton suit and the size of
a cap with a very deep peak. He also notated a green eye-shade, a pair
of goggles, and the ingredients for making a dark brown face stain.
In addition to this he wanted a dark gray hair switch, and it was easy
to discern that his main idea was to prepare an elaborate disguise.
"All right," reported Bart, as he finished reading the list. "I'll have
the things here just as early in the morning as I can get them. I'm
going to put out the lantern, but I will then hand it over to you with
some matches. It has got a shade, and you can focus the rays so they
will not show outside. Here are a couple of magazines--I brought them
from the house."
"You're mighty kind," said the refugee. "Hold on. I want to tell you
something. Of course you think I'm acting strange. Some day, though, if
things come out right, I'll explain to you, and you will say I did just
right. There's another thing: you may think from my actions I am some
desperate character. I hope I may burn up right in this shed to-night if
I'm not telling the truth when I say to you that I never touched a
dishonored penny, never harmed a soul, never did a wrong thing
knowingly."
"I have confidence in your word, Mr. Baker," said Bart simply.
"Thank you, I'll prove I deserve it yet," declared the strange man.
There was a spell of silence. Finally Bart decided to venture a question
on a theme he was very curious about.
"Do you know Colonel Jeptha Harrington?" he asked suddenly.
"Hoo--eh?"
He had startled Baker--his incoherent mutterings persuaded Bart of
this.
"Don't you want to tell?" continued Bart. "All right, only it was you
who waved an arm at him from the freight car this afternoon, wasn't it,
now?"
"Well, yes, it was," admitted Baker in a low tone.
"And you said something to him."
"Yes, I did. See here, I heard him calling you down and threatening you,
for I slunk up to the shed here to see what he was up to. I'm interested
in him, I am, and so are others. When I got back in hiding I spoke out,
I told him something--something that made his crabbed old soul wizen up,
something that scared the daylights out of him. He had a brother, once.
He's dead, now. I said something that made this old rascal think his
brother's ghost had come back to earth to haunt him."
"How could you do that?" inquired Bart, very much interested.
"Because I had certain knowledge. Don't ask any further. It will all
come out, some day--the day I'm waiting and working for. You saw how he
was affected. Well, I threatened things that laid him out flat if he
dared to so much as place a straw in your path."
"I understand, now," said Bart.
He waited for a minute or two, hoping Baker would divulge something
further, but he did not do so, and Bart said good night, secured the
padlock on the outside, and left the place with a parting cheery
direction to his strange pensioner to sleep soundly and rest well.
The little ones were in bed when Bart got home, but his mother and the
girls were sitting on the porch. Pretty well tired out, Bart joined
them, and they all sat watching the last of the display of fireworks
over near the common.
"This has been a pretty dull Fourth for you, Bart," said his mother
sympathizingly.
"It has been a very busy Fourth, mother," returned Bart cheerfully--"I
might say a very hopeful, happy Fourth. Except for the anxiety about
father, I think I should feel very grateful and contented."
A graceful rocket parted the air at a distance, followed by the
delighted shouts of juvenile spectators.
"Upward and onward," murmured Mrs. Stirling, placing a tender, loving
hand on Bart's shoulder.
A second rocket went whizzing up. It raced the other, outdistanced it,
seemed bound for the furthest heights, never swerving from a true,
straight line.
Then it broke grandly, sending a radiant glow across the clear, serene
sky.
"That's my motto," said Bart, a touch of intense resolve in his
tones--"higher still!"