"Is all that you're telling me true?" propounded the bewildered station
agent, sidling up to Bart's side.
"Every word of it."
"Where did you get the hand car?"
"I found it. Oh, by the way! I wish you would explain to me about that
railroad; what is it, what excuse has it got for existing?"
"Oh, that?" said the station agent "It's the old quarry spur. A company
built it five years ago with grand plans for shipping mottled tiling
slate all over the country. Their money gave out and the scheme was
never put through."
"And the hand car?"
"There's four men who live here who got the privilege of digging out
slate for a big plumbers' supply house in the city. They go to the
quarry and back on the hand car daily. Did they loan it to you?"
"No," said Bart, "I was in a hurry, and had to borrow it without
permission."
"They'll have a fine walk back here in this storm!"
"I was going to suggest," said Bart, taking half a dollar from his
pocket, "that you might hire some boy to run the hand car back to the
quarry."
"I can do that," answered the station agent.
Number 18 came sailing down the rails. As she slowed up, everyone on
duty from the fireman to the brakeman was on the lookout for the cause
of the unusual stop.
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