Then he discovered that it was a
real sound that had awakened him.
"Only five," he murmured, with a quick glance at the alarm clock on the
bureau--"and someone at the front door!"
Rat, tat, tat! it was a sharp, distinct summons.
"Why," continued Bart briskly, jumping out of bed and hurrying on some
clothes, "it's Jeff!"
Jeff was "the caller" for the roundhouse. He was a feature in the B. &
M. system, and for ten years had pursued his present occupation.
"Something's up," ruminated Bart a little excitedly, as he ran down the
stairs and opened the front door. "What is it, Jeff?"
"Wanted," announced the laconic caller.
"By whom?"
"McCarthy, down at the freight house."
"What's wrong?"
"He didn't tell---just asked me to get you there quick as your feet
could carry you."
"Thank you, Jeff, I'll lose no time."
Bart hurried into his clothes. Clear of the house, he ran all the way to
the railroad yards.
As he rounded into them from Depot Street, he came in sight of the
express office.
McCarthy, the night watchman, was seated on the platform looking down in
a rueful way.
He got up as Bart approached, and the latter noticed that he looked
haggard, and swayed as though his head was dizzy.
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