Just as Mr. Leslie had returned this to his pocket and was about to
start from the spot, a man hailed him. It was Lem Wacker. He was dressed
in his best, but the effort was spoiled by an uncertainty of gait, and
his face was suspiciously flushed.
"Did you address me?" inquired the superintendent in a chilling tone.
Lem was not daunted by the imposing presence or the dignified demeanor
of the speaker.
"Sure," he answered, unabashed. "You're Leslie, ain't you?"
"I am Mr. Leslie, yes," corrected the superintendent, his stern brow
contracted in a frown.
"They told me I'd find you here. My name's Wacker. Knew your cousin down
at Rochelle; we worked on the same desk in the freight house. Had many
a drink with Ted Leslie."
"What do you want?" challenged the superintendent, turning on his heel.
"Why, it's this way," explained the dauntless Lem: "I'm an old
railroader and a handy man of experience, I am, and I wanted to make a
proposition to you. You see--"
Bart lost the remainder of Mr. Lem Wacker's proposition, for Mr. Leslie
had started forward impatiently, with Lem persistently following in his
wake. He was still keeping up the pursuit and importuning the affronted
official as both were lost to view behind a track of freights.
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