ON THE MIDNIGHT EXPRESS
"Air--and water!" panted the mysterious occupant of the trunk.
Bart looked him over in some wonder. He was a short, wiry man, and
arrayed in a close-fitting costume resembling that of the circus athlete
on duty.
The man was drenched with perspiration and so nearly exhausted with his
suffocating imprisonment, that his voice was rasping and hollow.
He was weak, too. As he stepped over the side of the trunk he staggered
feebly. Then, making out an open window and a pail of drinking water on
a bench near it, he made a swift dive in that direction.
First the man stuck his head out of the window and drew in great
draughts of pure, fresh air.
Then he seized the tin cup near the pail. He dipped up the water and
drank cupful after cupful until Bart eyed him in some alarm.
"Ah--h!" breathed the man in a long aspiration of relief and enjoyment,
"that's better. Say, ten minutes more and there would have been no
Professor Rigoletto."
As he spoke he went back to the trunk. He took out a long gossamer rain
coat that had been used as a pillow. This he proceeded to put on.
It came to his feet. He buttoned it up, drew a jaunty crush cap from one
of its pockets, and grinned pleasantly into the face of the petrified
Peter Pope.
"See here!" blurted out the Cardysville express agent, "this
isn't--isn't regular. It isn't schedule, you know."
"I hope not--sincerely," airily retorted the stranger. "Fifty miles on a
slow train, three hours waiting in a close trunk. Ah, no. But I've
arrived. Ha, ha, that's so!"
He glanced into the trunk. Its bottom seemed covered with some coarse
burlap. Professor Rigoletto threw shut the cover.
"Aha!" he said suddenly, bending his ear as a strain of distant circus
music floated on the air. "Show on, I'll be late. I'll call later--"
"No, you don't!" interrupted Pope, recovering from his fright, and
placing his bulky form in the doorway.
"Don't what, my friend?" mildly asked the Professor.
"Deadhead--beat the express company. You're one trunk--and excess
weight."
"I don't dispute it. What, then?"
"Pay," promptly and definitely announced the agent.
"Can't. Haven't a cent. That's why I had to get a friend to ship me this
way. But he said he'd wire ahead to my partner with the circus, who
would call for me here. I'll go and find him, and settle the bill."
"You don't leave here until those charges are paid. You want to be
rapid, too," declared Pope, "or I'll see if the railroad company don't
want to collect fare, as well."
"Want to keep me here, eh?" murmured the Professor thoughtfully. "Well,
I'm agreeable, only you'll have to feed and bed me. If I'm live stock, I
demand live-stock privileges, see?"
The express agent looked worried.
"What am I to do?" he asked, in a quandary, of Bart.
"Oh," smiled Bart, "I guess you had better trust him to find his friend
and come back with the money."
"I'll hold the trunk, anyway," observed Pope. "What have you got in it?
Some old worthless togs, I suppose."
"Mistake--about a thousand dollars in value," coolly retorted the
Professor.
"Yes, you have! I thought so. Some old burlap."
"Careful, my friend!" spoke the deadhead sharply. "There's nothing there
that you will care to see."
"Isn't there? I'll investigate, just the same," declared Pope, throwing
back the trunk cover and delving in the heap of burlap. "Murder! Help!"
Peter Pope uttered a fearful yell. He backed from the trunk suddenly, A
sinuous, hissing form had risen up before his face.
This was an enormous cobra, and, under the circumstances, very frightful
to see. The Cardysville express agent made a headlong bolt for the door.
He slid clear outside across the platform, and landed in the mud of the
road.
"Prt! prt! Caesar, so--so!" spoke Professor Rigoletto in a peculiar,
purring tone, approaching the serpent.
He coaxed and forced the big snake back into its warm coverings, and
shut down the trunk cover and clasped it. Bart, highly edified at the
unique incident, followed him outside.
"I'm the Cingalese snake-charmer," explained Professor Rigoletto.
"Sorry, my friend," he observed to the wry-faced Pope, who was busy
scraping the mud from his clothing, "but I told you so."
"Ugh!" shuddered the agent. "You get that trunk out of here
double-quick, or I'll have you arrested."
"Sure, I will," answered the Professor with alacrity, "and I promise you
that I will bring or send you the express charges by the time the show
is over."
Professor Rigoletto dragged the trunk to the platform. It was not a
heavy burden, now. Bart good-humoredly assisted him in getting it
balanced properly on his shoulder. The professor courteously thanked him
and asked him to come and see the show free, and marched off quite
contented with the result of his daring deadhead experiment.
The Cardysville express agent was greatly worked up over the incident of
the hour. It was some time before he could get his mind sufficiently
calmed down to discuss business affairs coherently.
Bart, however, handled the man in a pleasant, politic manner, and soon
had results working.
He let Peter Pope imagine that he was the originator of every idea that
he, Bart himself, suggested. He very deftly introduced the system in
vogue at the Pleasantville express office.
In fact, at the end of two hours Bart had accomplished all he had been
sent to do. He had got Pope's records into sensible shape, had opened a
small set of books for him, and knew that the inspector must be pleased
with the results.
Bart had missed the early afternoon train. There was no other running to
Pleasantville direct until eleven o'clock that night.
He had planned to put in the time strolling about town, when Professor
Rigoletto appeared. He was accompanied by a friend.
The latter ascertained the express charges on the trunk, paid them, and
handed both Bart and Pope a free ticket to the evening's entertainment.
Bart took a stroll by himself, got his supper at a neat little
restaurant, and met Pope as agreed at the door of the main show tent at
seven o'clock.
They were given good seats, and they had the pleasure of seeing
Professor Rigoletto and his big snake under more agreeable conditions
than those of their first introduction to them.
The show was a very good one, and at half-past ten they left the tent.
The Cardysville express agent accompanied Bart to the depot, where the
east bound train was due to arrive in thirty minutes.
As they walked up and down the platform, a horse and wagon drove up to
the little express shed. Pope went over to it. Bart accompanied him.
The driver of the wagon was a brisk, smart-looking farmery individual.
Pope knew him, and nodded to him in a friendly fashion.
"Come after something?" inquired the agent "I don't recall that there is
anything here for you."
"No, I want to express these hives," answered the farmer.
He indicated six boxes lying in his wagon, covered with gauze.
"Bother!" said Pope, a little crossly. "That's no midnight job. Why
don't you come in the daytime, Mr. Simms? You just caught me here by
chance, at this outlandish hour."
"Particular shipment," explained Simms, "and I've got to catch the
trains just right. You see, these are special imported Italian bees,
Breeders. I reckon every one of those beauties is worth half-a-dollar.
They're very delicate in this climate, and call for great care. I want
you to instruct the messenger to follow the directions carded on the
boxes."
"I can do that," said Pope. "What he will do, is another thing."
"You see," continued the farmer, "if they handle them carefully at
Pleasantville, and see that they catch the early express to the city
from there, someone will be waiting to take them in charge at the
terminus. I'd be awful glad to tip the messenger handsomely to have
someone at Pleasantville, where they transfer the hives, open the
ventilators for a spell and tip down into the pans some of the honey
syrup."
"I will do that for you, sir," spoke up Bart--"I am in charge of the
express office at Pleasantville. I am going on this train, and I will be
glad to see that your goods are attended to just right, and transferred
on time."
"Say, will you?" exclaimed the farmer in a pleased tone. "Now, that's
just the ticket! The wrong draught on those bees, or too much bad air,
or too little feed, and they die off in dozens. You see, at fifty cents
apiece, that means quite a loss on an unlucky shipment."
"It does, indeed, Mr. Simms," responded Bart "I am very much interested
in the little workers, and you can rest easy as to their being rightly
cared for. I believe I will ride to Pleasantville in the express car, so
your bees will be right under my eye till they are put on the city
express."
"Thank you, thank you," said the farmer heartily.
As the train whistled in the distance, he came up to Bart and slipped a
bank note in his hand.
Bart demurred, but it was no use. He found himself two dollars richer
for his accommodating proposition.
As the train drew up, Peter Pope rapped at the door of the express car.
A sleepy-eyed messenger opened it. The hives were shoved in. Bart made a
brief explanation to the messenger, showing his pass. He waved a
pleasant adieu to Pope and the farmer as the express car door was closed
and locked.
When Bart got home he was more than tired out. But he had done well and
in the end got full praise for his work.
A day passed, and Bart failed to find Baker. He hunted everywhere and
kept up the search until he knew not where to look further.
Bart went home. He had scarcely reached his bedroom when there was a
vigorous summons at the front door.
"I hope it is Baker," murmured Bart, as he slipped on the coat he had
just taken off.
"A telegram, Bart," said his mother, at the bottom of the stairs.
She had receipted for it. Bart tore it open wonderingly, glancing first
at the signature, and marveling at its unusual length. It was signed by
Robert Leslie, superintendent of the express company, at the city end of
the line.
This is what it said:
"Special II. 256 by afternoon express, for Martin & Company,
Pleasantville, contains fifteen thousand dollars in cash, sender Dunn &
Son, Importers. They ask me to make a special delivery, and will defray
any extra cost for having it accepted personally by A.B. Martin, and
receipted for by him in the presence of witnesses. Delivery to be legal,
must be made before twelve, midnight, and this certified to. This is a
very important matter for one of the company's largest customers. Be
sure to make delivery on time."
Bart read the telegram over twice, taking in its important details, with
a serious face.
"Fifteen thousand dollars!" he repeated. "It has saved me some worry
that I did not discover the amount before. As to the delivery, that is
easy. I've got over two hours yet. I see what it is. Martin & Company
probably want to throw up a contract because prices have gone up, the
contract must be made binding by payment of fifteen thousand dollars by
midnight, or Dunn & Son lose. All right."
His mother noticed that some important business was on her son's mind,
and only told Bart to take care of himself.
Bart hurried towards the express office. At a street crossing he paused,
to let pass a close carriage that was driven along at a furious rate of
speed in the direction from which he had just come.
"Hello!" he forcibly ejaculated, as it flashed by him, the corner street
lamp irradiating its interior brightly--"there's queer company for you!"
The remark was warranted. The occupants of the vehicle were Colonel
Jeptha Harrington and Lem Wacker.