"You know I have some interest in it, seeing that
it is my plan," he smiled.
"Better keep out of it," advised Mr. Sparling. "You might fall
off from the cars. You are not used to walking over the tops
of them."
"Oh, yes I am. I have done it a number of times this season just
to help me to steady my nerves. I can walk a swaying box car in
a gale of wind and not get dizzy."
Mr. Sparling held up his hands protestingly.
"Don't tell me any more. I believe you. If you told me you
could run the engine I'd believe you. If there be anything you
don't know how to do, or at least know something about, I should
be glad to know what that something is."
"May I send your messages?" asked the lad. "If you will write
them now I'll take them over to the station. It must be nearly
starting time."
"Yes; it is. No; I'll call one of the men."
Mr. Sparling threw up his desk and rapidly scribbled his
directions to the train managers ahead. After that he sent
forward for the manager of their particular section, to whom he
confided Phil Forrest's plan, the lad taking part in the
discussion that followed. The train manager laughed at the idea
that anyone could steal a ride on his train persistently without
being detected.
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