"Everything in apple-pie order so far as the books go," he observed. "I
expect it will be big hustle and bustle for an hour or two in the
morning, though."

Lem Wacker came slouching along. It was six o'clock, the quitting hour.
Lem was always on time on such occasions. The whistle from the shops had
ceased echoing, and, his dinner pail on his arm and filling his
inevitable pipe, he paused for a moment.

"Going to shut up shop?" he inquired with affected carelessness.

"I am going home, if that's what you mean," replied Bart--"as soon as my
father comes."

"Not feeling very well lately, eh?" continued Lem, his eyes roving in a
covetous way over the cozy office and the comfortable railroad armchair
Mr. Stirling used. "No wonder, he takes it too hard."

"Does he?" retorted Bart.

"You bet he does. Wish I had his job. I'd make people wait to suit my
ideas. How's the company to know or care if you break your neck to
accommodate people? Too honest, too."

"A man can't be too honest," asserted Bart.

"Can't he? Say, I'm an old railroader, I am, and I know the ropes. Why,
when I was running the express office at Corydon, we sampled everything
that came in. Crate of bananas--we had many a lunch, apples, cigars,