Bart Stirling's Road to Success; Or, The Young Express Agent Read online

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  A PIECE OF ROPE WAS LOOPED DEFTLY ABOUT BART'S ARMS._Bart Stirling's Road to Success Page_ 217]

  BART STIRLING'S ROAD TO SUCCESS

  Or

  The Young Express Agent

  BY ALLEN CHAPMAN

  AUTHOR OF "THE HEROES OF THE SCHOOL," "NED WILDING'S DISAPPEARANCE,""FRANK ROSCOE'S SECRET," "FENN MASTERSON'S DISCOVERY," "BART KEENE'SHUNTING DAYS," ETC., ETC.

  NEW YORKCUPPLES & LEON COMPANY1908

  * * * * *

  THE BOYS' POCKET LIBRARY

  BY ALLEN CHAPMAN

  Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume, 35 cents, postpaid.

  THE HEROES OF THE SCHOOL NED WILDING'S DISAPPEARANCE FRANK ROSCOE'S SECRET FENN MASTERSON'S DISCOVERY BART KEENE'S HUNTING DAYS BART STIRLING'S ROAD TO SUCCESS WORKING HARD TO WIN BOUND TO SUCCEED THE YOUNG STOREKEEPER NED BORDEN'S FIND

  CUPPLES & LEON CO, Publishers, New York

  * * * * *

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER

  I. THE THIRD OF JULY II. "WAKING THE NATIVES" III. COUNTING THE COST IV. BLIND FOR LIFE V. READY FOR BUSINESS VI. GETTING "SATISFACTION" VII. WAITING FOR TROUBLE VIII. THE YOUNG EXPRESS AGENT IX. COLONEL JEPTHA HARRINGTON X. QUEER COMRADES XI. "FORGET IT!" XII. THE MYSTERIOUS MR. BAKER XIII. "HIGHER STILL!" XIV. MRS. HARRINGTON'S TRUNK XV. AN EARLY "CALL" XVI. AT FAULT XVII. A FAINT CLEW XVIII. A DUMB FRIEND XIX. FOOLING THE ENEMY XX. BART ON THE ROAD XXI. A LIMB OF THE LAW XXII. BART STIRLING, AUCTIONEER XXIII. "GOING, GOING, GONE!" XXIV. MR. BAKER'S BID XXV. A NIGHT MESSAGE XXVI. ON THE MIDNIGHT EXPRESS XXVII. LATE VISITORS XXVIII. THIRTY SECONDS OF TWELVE XXIX. BROUGHT TO TIME XXX. "STILL HIGHER!"

  * * * * *

  BART STIRLING'S ROAD TO SUCCESS

  CHAPTER I

  THE THIRD OF JULY

  "You can't go in that room."

  "Why can't I?"

  "Because that's the orders; and you can't smoke in this room."

  Bart Stirling spoke in a definite, manly fashion.

  Lemuel Wacker dropped his hand from the door knob on which it rested,and put his pipe in his pocket, but his shoulders hunched up and hisunpleasant face began to scowl.

  "Ho!" he snorted derisively, "official of the company, eh? Runningthings, eh?"

  "I am--for the time being," retorted Bart, cheerfully.

  "Well," said Wacker, with an ugly sidelong look, "I don't takeinsolence from anyone with the big head. I reckon ten year's servicewith the B. & M. entitles a man to know his rights."

  "Very active service just now, Mr. Wacker?" insinuated Bart pleasantly.

  Lem Wacker flushed and winced, for the pointed question struck home.

  "I don't want no mistering!" he growled. "Lem's good enough for me. AndI don't take no call-down from any stuck-up kid, I want you tounderstand that."

  "You'd better get to the crossing if you're making any pretense of realwork," suggested Bart just then.

  As he spoke Bart pointed through the open window across the tracks tothe switch shanty at the side of the street crossing.

  A train was coming. Mr. Lemuel Wacker was "subbing" as extra for thesuperannuated old cripple whose sole duty was to wave a flag as trainswent by. To this duty Wacker sprang with alacrity.

  Bart dismissed the man from his mind, and, whistling a cheery tune, bentover the book in which he had been writing for the past twenty minutes.

  This was the register of the local express office of the B. & M., andat present, as Bart had said, he was "running it."

  The express shed was a one-story, substantial frame building having tworooms. It stood in the center of a network of tracks close to thefreight depot and switch tower, and a platform ran its length front andrear.

  Framed by the window an active railroad panorama spread out, and beyondthat view the quaint town of Pleasantville.

  Bart had spent all his young life here. He knew every nook and corner ofthe place, and nearly every man, woman and child in the village.

  Pleasantville did not belie its name to Bart's way of thinking. He votedits people, its surroundings, and life in general there, as pleasant ascould well be.

  Here he was born, and he had found nothing to complain of, although hewas what might be called a poor boy.

  There were his mother, his two sisters and two small brothers at home,and sometimes it took a good deal to go around, but Bart's father had asteady job, and Bart himself was an agreeable, willing boy, just at thethreshold of doing something to earn a living and wide-awake for theearliest opportunity.

  Mr. Stirling had been express agent for the B. & M. for eight years,and was counted a reliable, efficient employee of the company.

  For some months, however, his health had not been of the best, and Barthad been glad when he was impressed into service to relieve his fatherwhen laid up with his occasional foe, the rheumatism, or to watch theoffice at mealtimes.

  Bart was on duty in this regard at the present time. It was about fivein the afternoon, but it was also the third of July, and that date, likethe twenty-fourth of December, was the busiest in the calendar for thelittle express office.

  All the afternoon Bart had worked at the desk or helped in getting outpackages and boxes for delivery.

  A little handcart was among the office equipment, and very often Bartdid light delivering. On this especial day, however, in addition to theregular freight, Fourth of July and general picnic and celebration goodsmore than trebled the usual volume, and they had hired a local teamsterto assist them.

  With the 4:20 train came a new consignment. The back room was now nearlyfull of cases of fruit, a grand boxed-up display of fireworks forColonel Harrington, the village magnate, another for a local club, someminor boxes for private family use, and extra orders from the city forthe village storekeepers.

  It was an unusual and highly inflammable heap, and when tired Mr.Sterling went home to snatch a bite of something to eat, and lazy LemWacker came strolling into the place, pipe in full blast, Bart had nothesitated to exercise his brief authority. A spark among that tinderpile would mean sure and swift destruction. Besides, light-fingered LemWacker was not to be trusted where things lay around loose.

  So Bart had squelched him promptly and properly. The man for whom "Lem"was good enough, was in his opinion pretty nearly good for nothing.

  Bart made the last entry in the register with a satisfied smile andstrolled to the door stretching himself.

  "Everything in apple-pie order so far as the books go," he observed. "Iexpect it will be big hustle and bustle for an hour or two in themorning, 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 hadceased echoing, and, his dinner pail on his arm and filling hisinevitable 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 myfather comes."

  "Not feeling very well lately, eh?" continued Lem, his eyes roving in acovetous way over the cozy office and the comfortable railroad armchairMr. 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 myideas. How's the company to know or care if you break your neck toaccommodate 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 everythingthat came in. Crate of bananas--we had many a lunch, apples, cigars,once in a while a live chicken, and always a couple of turkeys atholiday time."

  "And who paid for them?" inquired Bart bluntly.

  "We didn't, and no questions asked."

  "I am afraid your ideas will not make much impression on my father, ifthat is what you are getting at," observed Bart, turning unceremoniouslyfrom Wacker.

  "Humph! you fellows ought to run a backwoods post office," disgustedlygrunted the latter, as he made off.

  Bart had only to wait ten minutes when his father appeared. Except for aslight limp and some pallor in his face, Mr. Stirling seemed in hisprime. He had kindly eyes and was always pleasant and smiling, even whenin pain.

  "Well! well!" he cried briskly, with a gratified glance at his son afterlooking over the register, "all the real hard work is done, the workthat always worries me, with my poor eyesight. Come up to the paymaster,young man! There's an advance till salary day, and well you've earnedit."

  Mr. Stirling took some money from his pocket. There was a silver dollarand some loose change. Bart looked pleased, then quite grave, and he puthis hand resolutely behind him.

  "I can't take it, father," he said. "You have a hard enough time, and Iought to pay you for the experience I'm getting here instead of beingpaid."

  "Young man," spoke Mr. Stirling with affected sternness, but atwinkling in his eye, "you take your half-pay, make tracks, enjoyyourself, and don't worry about a trifle of a dollar or two. If youhappen to drop around this way about nine o'clock, I'll be glad of yourcompany home."

  He slipped the money into Bart's pocket and playfully pushed him throughthe doorway. Bart's heart was pretty full. He was alive with tendernessand love for this loyal, patient parent who had not been over kindlyhandled by the world in a money way.

  Then a dozen loud explosions over on the hill, followed by boyish shoutsof enthusiasm, made Bart remember that he was a boy, with all a boy'slively interest in the Fourth of July foremost in his thoughts, and hebounded down the tracks like a whirlwind.