He was anxious to get home and then to the hospital, to impart to his
mother and father in turn the assurance that they had a bread-winner
able to work and glad to do so for their benefit.

Amid the buoyancy of the relief from the continuous strain and troubles
of the day, Bart was bent on a quick dash for home when he remembered
something that changed his plan.

"The roustabout, the poor fellow that I've got the ten dollars for, the
good fellow, if I don't mistake, who saved the books and the contents of
the safe!" exclaimed Bart. "Actually, I had forgotten all about him for
the moment."

Bart stood still thinking, looking around speculatively, his fingers
mechanically touching the bank note in his pocket which Mr. Leslie had
given him in trust.

He did not reflect long. He went at once to the freight car whence he
had seen the ragged arm extended two hours previous, and looked in.

Back at one end were some broken grapevine crates, and it was dim and
shadowy there, so he called out.

"Any one here?"

"Yes," came from the corner, and there was a rustling of straw.

"I guess I know who," said Bart. "Come out of that, my good friend, and
show yourself," he continued heartily.