He now had in his
possession every record of the transactions of the Pleasantville express
office since the last New Year's day.
"And the contents of the safe are all right, too, that writing says!"
exclaimed Bart; "now what does all this mean?"
The handwriting of the announcement was crude and labored, and the boy
felt sure he had never seen it before.
He glanced with some excitement at the ruins of the old express shed,
then he went over there. The embers had died down entirely, and the mass
of ashes and debris was sparkless and cold.
Bart went to a near railroad scrap heap and selected a long iron rod
crowbar crooked at the end. He returned to the ruins and began poking
the debris aside. He was thus engaged when some trackmen, lounging the
day away over on a freight platform, sauntered up to the spot.
"Why don't you work holidays, Stirling?" asked one of them satirically.
"Somebody has got to work to get this mess in shipshape order," retorted
Bart. "The writing said what was true!" he spoke to himself, as his
pokings cleared a broad iron surface. "The safe door is shut."
The safe lay flat on its back where it had fallen when the floor had
burned away.
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