Bart Stirling's Road to Success by Allen Chapman

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"What! what!" shouted Martin.

"That is the amount."

"From--Dunn & Son?"

"I guess that's right," said Bart. "Will you come down and take it?"

Martin did not reply. He disappeared from the window, but left it open.
Bart heard him muttering to himself.

"Supposing he doesn't come down?" questioned Bob, in a whisper.

"I think he will," said Bart. "Eleven forty-eight. Mr. Martin," he
called out loudly, "I can't wait here all night."

"Shut up!" retorted an angry voice--"I'm hurrying all I can."

"He isn't!" spoke Darry, in a low tone to Bart. "He's on to the
business, and playing for time."

"And he's beat us!" breathed Bob--"hear there! twelve o'clock. Your
delivery is no good, Bart! It's just struck a new day!"

"S--sh!" warned Bart, as a clock inside the house rang out twelve
silvery strokes. "The clock is wrong. We've got five minutes and a half
yet."

In about two minutes a light flashed in the hall, the front door was
unlocked, and Martin appeared, half-dressed. Bart relievedly put up his
watch. It was just three minutes of twelve.

He instantly placed the express envelope in Martin's hands, slipping
into the vestibule.

"Mr. Martin," he said, "it is necessary for you to verify the contents
of this package. An accident happened to it, as you see."

Martin tore the envelope clear open, and glanced over fifteen bills of
one thousand dollar denomination each.

"All right," he said gruffly.

"Will you sign this receipt?" asked Bart politely, tendering the slip of
paper he had prepared at the office for this especial occasion. "Thank
you," he added, as the pickle man scrawled a penciled signature at the
bottom of the paper.

"I take this money," said Mr. Martin, looking up with a peculiar
expression on his face, "because it is delivered by you, but I shall
return it to Dunn & Son to-morrow."

"That is your business, Mr. Martin," said Bart politely.

"It is, and--something more! I call on you and your witnesses to notice
that the fifteen thousand dollars was not delivered to me until six
minutes after twelve, too late to make the tender legal, which makes the
contract null and void."

Mr. Martin, with a triumphant sweep of his hand, pointed to a big clock
at the end of the long hall.

"I beg your pardon," said Bart, holding up his watch, "but I keep
official time, and it is exactly thirty seconds to midnight. Listen!"

And thirty seconds later, from the Pleasantville court house tower, the
town bell rang out twelve musical strokes.

CHAPTER XXIX

BROUGHT TO TIME

"I'll go!" said Colonel Jeptha Harrington, magnate of Pleasantville.

"All right," said Bart Stirling, express company agent.

It was three o'clock in the morning, and the scene was the little
express office where so many unusual and exciting happenings had
transpired within twenty-four hours.

The colonel's announcement was given in the tone of a man facing a hard
proposition and forced to accept it--or something worse.

Bart's reply was calm and off-handed. During a two hours' siege with the
military man he had never lost his temper or his wits, and had come off
the victor.

When Bart had concluded his very creditable piece of business with Mr.
Martin of the pickle factory, he had sent Darry and Bob Haven back to
bed, and had forthwith returned to the express office.

Colonel Harrington, scared-looking and sullen, was still there. He
seemed to have met his match in the young express agent, and dared not
defy him.

Bart found McCarthy, the night watchman, on guard outside, who told him
that they had got Lem Wacker clear of the bumpers, had carried him into
the express office, made up a rude litter, and had sent for a surgeon.

The latter had just concluded his labors as Bart entered. Lem Wacker lay
with his foot bandaged up, conscious, and in no intense pain, for the
surgeon had given him some deadening medicine.

"He belongs at the hospital," the surgeon advised Bart. "That foot will
have to come off."

"As bad as that!" murmured Bart.

"Yes. I will telephone for the ambulance when I leave here."

"Very well," acquiesced Bart. "Can I speak with the patient?"

"If he will speak with you. He's an ugly, ungrateful mortal!"

Bart went over to the side of the prostrate man.

"Mr. Wacker," he said, "I do not wish to trouble you in your present
condition, but something has got to be understood before you leave this
place. You go to the hospital as a prisoner or as a patient, just as you
elect."

"Pile it on! pile it on!" growled Wacker. "You've got the upper hand,
and you'll squeeze me, I suppose. All the same, those who stand back of
me will take care of me or I'll explode a bomb that will shatter
Pleasantville to pieces!"

Colonel Harrington shuddered at this palpable allusion to himself.

"And I'm going to sue the railroad company for my smashed foot. What do
you want?"

"This, Mr. Wacker," pursued Bart quietly, "you have to-night committed a
crime that means State's prison for ten years if I make the complaint."

"I'll have a partner in it, all the same!" remarked Wacker grimly.

The colonel groaned.

"You were after a package that belongs to a friend of mine," continued
Bart. "I want to know why, and I want to know what you have done with
that person."

"Don't you torture me!" cried Wacker irritably--"don't you let him," he
blared out to the quacking magnate. "I won't say a word. Let Harrington
do as he pleases. He's the king bee! Only, just this, Harrington, you
take care of me or I'll blow the whole business."

"Yes, yes," stammered the colonel in a mean, servile way, approaching
the litter, "leave it all to me, Wacker. Don't raise a row, Stirling,"
he pleaded piteously, "don't have him arrested, I'll foot the bill, I'll
square everything. This matter must be hushed--yes, yes, hushed up!"
hoarsely groaned the military man. "Oh, its dreadful, dreadful!"

Bart felt that he had matters in strong control, spoke a word to
McCarthy and, when the ambulance came, allowed them to take Lem Wacker
to the hospital.

Then he and Colonel Harrington were alone. The latter was in a pitiable
condition of fear and humiliation.

"See here, Stirling," he said finally, "I'll confess the truth. I've
done wrong. There's a paper in that package that would mean disgrace for
me if it was made public. I'll own to that, but it's over a dead and
buried business, and it can do no good to make it public property now. I
warn you if it is, I will shoot myself through the head."

Bart doubted if the colonel had the courage to carry out his threat, but
he temporized with the great man, got him to make enough admissions to
somewhat clear the situation, and the long discussion ended with the
announcement by Colonel Harrington that he "would go."

In other words, he confessed that Baker, Bart's friend and the highest
bidder for the mysterious express package, was a prisoner in his barn.

In some way Lem Wacker had become aware of Baker's secret, whatever that
was, and had helped the colonel in his efforts to suppress Baker and
secure possession of the package.

Bart was shocked at this exhibition of cold-blooded villainy on the part
of a representative member of the community, although he had never had
much use for the pompous, domineering old tyrant, who now led the way
through the silent Streets of Pleasantville as meek as a lamb.

He took Bart through the beautiful grounds of his sumptuous home, and to
a windowless padlocked room in the loft of the stable.

Poor Baker, his hands secured with stout pieces of wire, arose from a
stool with a gleam of hope on his pallid face as Bart followed the
colonel into the room.

"See here, Baker--which isn't your name--but it will do--" said the
colonel at once, "things have turned your way. Your friend here, young
Stirling, has got the whip-hand--I am cornered, and admit it. I want to
make a proposition to you, Stirling needn't hear it. When you have
decided, we will call him into the room again and he will see that you
get your rights. Is that satisfactory?"

"What shall I do?" asked Baker of Bart.

"Hear what Colonel Harrington has to say. If it suits you, settle up
this matter as you think right. I am here to see that he does as he
promises."

Bart stepped out of the room. There was a continuous hum of conversation
for nearly half an hour. Then the colonel opened the door.

"I'm to go into the house to write out something Baker wants," he
explained. "Then I'll come back."

"Very well," nodded Bart.

He tried to engage Baker in conversation, but the latter, his hands free
now, paced the room nervously, acting like some caged animal.

"I'm afraid of him!" he declared. "I don't know that I am doing what is
best. He's a bad man. He begs me to spare him for the sake of his
family."

"Is this a matter where settlement will do any injustice to others?"
asked Bart.

"None, now--it is past that."

"Then follow the dictates of your own judgment, Mr. Baker," directed
Bart, "being sure that you are acting with a clear conscience."

Colonel Harrington, when he returned, brought two documents. Baker
looked them over.

"Are they satisfactory?" inquired the colonel anxiously.

"Yes," answered Baker.

"Now understand, there is to be no gossip about this affair?" insisted
the magnate.

"I shan't talk," said Baker.

"And I am to have that express package?"

"Give it to him, Stirling."

Bart took the mysterious unclaimed package from his pocket. Colonel
Harrington seized it with a satisfied cry.

"You have wronged myself and others deeply, Colonel Harrington," said
Baker in a grave, reproachful tone, "but you have made some amends. I
forgive you, and I hope you will be a better man."

CHAPTER XXX

"STILL HIGHER!"

Bart Stirling was a proud and happy boy as he stood at the door of the
express office looking down the tracks of the B. & M.

A new spur was being constructed, and it divided to semi-inclose a
substantial foundation which was the start of the new and commodious
express office. The blue sky, smiling down on the busy scene, was no
more serene than the prospect which the future seemed to offer for the
successful young express agent.

With his last reckless crime Lem Wacker had ceased to be a disturbing
element at Pleasantville. After two months' confinement he had limped
out of the hospital, out of town, and out of Bart Stirling's life.

Colonel Jeptha Harrington himself had left town with the beginning of
winter. It was said he intended to make an extended trip in Europe.

With his departure, a new Mr. Baker seemed to spring into existence.
Divested of his disguise, no longer a fear-filled roustabout fugitive,
Bart's strange friend had found a steady, lucrative position at the
hotel, and Bart felt that he had certainly been the means of doing some
real good in the world every time he looked at the happy, contented face
of his protege.

Concerning all the details of Baker's past, Bart never knew the entire
truth.

Baker felt, however, that it was due to his champion that he explain in
the main the mystery of his connection with Colonel Harrington, and he
told a strange story.

It seemed that the purse-proud colonel had a poor brother living in
another State.

This brother owned a farm on which there lived with him a man named
Adams, a widower, and his little daughter, Dorothy.

Adams was a close friend of Samuel Harrington, and out of his earnings
saved the place from being taken on a mortgage.

Samuel Harrington always told Adams that he had made a will, and that in
case of his sudden death the farm would go to him. He gave Adams a
letter certifying to his having a claim of over three thousand dollars
against the property, which he told Adams to show to his rich brother
when he died, asserting that, although Colonel Harrington had shamefully
neglected him, he would never dishonorably repudiate a claim of that
kind.

When Samuel Harrington died, his brother appeared, took possession of
the farm as only heir, and cruelly drove Mr. Adams and his child from
the place.

He tore up the written statement Adams gave him, ridiculed his claims,
and, no will being found, sold the place for a song and left Adams an
invalid pauper.

Adams had done Baker, or, as his real name was, Albert Baker Mills, a
great service once.

Baker, or Mills, supported Adams and his child for a year. Adams spent
all his time bemoaning his fate, and haunted the old farm in a search of
the will of Samuel Harrington.

One day he did not appear, nor the following. Early on the morning of
the third day he staggered into the house, weak and fainting. He was
taken down with a fever, was delirious for a week, and at the end of
that time died.

Just before his death he tried to tell something about the will. Baker
made out that he had found it, that it was at Pleasantville, nothing
more.

After his friend's death, Baker wrote a letter to Colonel Harrington.
He accused him of his dishonorable conduct, and threatened to publicly
expose him if he did not provide in some way for the little orphan,
Dorothy, for whom he had found a home with a poor relative.

A week later Colonel Harrington sought out Baker, told him he had
trumped up a charge against him that would land him in jail, which Baker
later discovered was the truth, and gave him twenty-four hours to leave
the country.

From that time the poor fellow was a fugitive, venturing to appear only
in disguise at Pleasantville. Adams, it seemed, had found the will and
had sent it to Pleasantville addressed to himself, not daring to face
the colonel with the important document in his possession, but never
living to carry out his plan.

In the settlement with Colonel Harrington, Baker had received a letter
exculpating him totally from the trumped up charge, and a check for five
thousand dollars, which money was now held in trust by a bank to provide
for little Dorothy's future.

Bart felt much gratified over the way all these tangled strands in the
warp and woof of his young life had been straightened out, but he
experienced a final blessing that filled him with unutterable joy and
gratefulness.

A week previous his father had returned from a month's treatment by a
city expert oculist.

Robert Stirling came back to Pleasantville a well man.

That was a joyful night at the little Stirling home, when Mr. Stirling
once again looked with restored sight upon the faces of the many friends
who respected and loved him.

Mr. Stirling, while in the city, had been an invited guest at the home
of Mr. Leslie, and the express superintendent had learned a good deal
more about his devoted son than he had ever known before.

"Come out of it!" hailed a jolly voice, and Bart was disturbed in his
pleasant reverie by the appearance of Darry and Bob Haven.

"It's settled!" cried the latter ecstatically?--"we're going into the
regular business at last."

"I don't quite catch on," returned Bart.

"The printing and publishing business," put in Darry. "We have got the
money together for a nice little plant, and father and mother are
willing that we shall go ahead. Some day you'll see us running a regular
newspaper."

"Well, I wish you good luck--you certainly deserve it," answered the
young express agent, warmly.

"There is only one drawback," resumed Bob. "We'll have to give up
helping you."

"Don't let that bother you. I'll find somebody else. Say, it will be
fine to start a regular newspaper," went on Bart. "I guess you'd wake
some of the old-timers up--they are so moss-eaten. This town needs a
bright, up-to-date sheet."

"We are going to push the printing and publishing business all we can,"
answered Darry, earnestly. How he and his brother carried out their
project I shall relate in another story, to be called, "Working Hard to
Win." It was no light undertaking, but the boys entered into it with a
vigor that was bound to command success.

"You see, father can help us a good deal," said Bob. "He used to be an
editor, you know. And more than that, mother can make us whatever
pictures we may need."

"Oh, you'll be right in it, I know," laughed Bart. "When you start your
newspaper put me down as the first subscriber. Your subscription money
is ready whenever you want it."

At that moment a messenger appeared.

"Letter for you," said he to the young express agent, and hurried about
his business.

"From the express people," murmured Bart, tearing open the letter.

As he perused it, such a quick, bright glow flashed into his face and
eyes, that the watchful Darry at once surmised that Bart had received a
communication out of the ordinary.

"Good news, Bart?" he inquired.

"Read it," said Bart simply, and quick-witted Darry saw that he was
almost too overcome to speak further.

The letter was from Mr. Leslie the superintendent, and contained two
paragraphs.

The first stated that from the fifteenth of the coming month Mr. Robert
Stirling would resume his position as express agent at Pleasantville,
thenceforward made a "Class B" station, at a salary of seventy dollars a
month.

The second paragraph requested Mr. Bart Stirling to report at
headquarters for assignment to duty at a city office as assistant
manager.

Darry Haven reached out and caught the hand of his loyal friend in a
warm, glad clasp.

"Capital!" he cried enthusiastically--"in line with your motto, Bart
Stirling--higher still!"

THE END

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