Bart Stirling's Road to Success by Allen Chapman

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"Same old complaint!" he intimated to Bart with a wink. "Drinks pretty
heavily."

Bart leaned over into the cab.

"Colonel Harrington," he said, "do you wish to be driven home?"

The colonel gave him a fishy stare, groaned and put out a wavering hand.

"Come," he mumbled.

"Jump in," directed Carey. "You'll be useful explaining the 'fall' up at
the house!"

As they went on their way, the young express agent experienced a
striking sensation.

A topsy-turvy day of excitement was ending with the peculiar combination
of his riding in the same carriage with his most bitter enemy, and
acting the good Samaritan.

They proceeded slowly, or rather cautiously, for the popping and banging
had recommenced all over town.

Carey had to keep the spirited horses in strong check as they passed
groups of boys, reckless of the quantity of firecrackers they
deliberately fired off as the team neared them.

Suddenly the horses were pulled to their haunches with a vociferous
shout. The cab swerved and creaked, and the horses' hoofs beat an
alarming tattoo on the cobblestones.

"Whoa! whoa!" yelled Bill Carey. "You young villains! get that infernal
machine out of the way. Can't you see--"

Bart stuck his head out of the cab window to view an animated scene.

A fourteen-inch cannon cracker was hissing and spitting out smoke barely
two feet ahead of the terrified horses in the middle of the street.

At that moment it exploded. The horses gave a wild snort, a frightened
jerk at the reins.

Bart saw the staunch driver dragged from his seat. He lit on his feet,
braced, but was pulled over, as, with a fierce tug, the horses snapped
the line in two.

Then, unrestrained, the team shot down the street without guide or
hindrance and with the speed of the wind.

CHAPTER XI

"FORGET IT!"

The young express agent acted quickly. A single glance told him that the
driver of the cab could do nothing.

The frightened horses were speeding ahead at a furious rate, could not
be overtaken, and Bart doubted if anyone could stop them.

No one tried, but all got out of the way promptly as the team went
tearing along. The horses came to a crossing, and, terrified anew at a
spitting "Vesuvius" ahead, abruptly veered and turned down a side lane.

It was at this moment that Bart threw open the door of the cab, grasped
a handle at the side of the vehicle, and drew himself up to the driver's
seat.

The swing the horses made just then sent his feet flying out in a wild
circle, but he held on, and the rebound landed him on the seat.

Our hero cast a quick look within the vehicle. The colonel had
"rousted" up somewhat. Buffeted from side to side by the erratic and
violent movements of the horses, he was trying to maintain his balance
by frantically clinging with both hands to the cushion under him.

As a wheel struck a stone the jar drove him forward. His head smashed
out the front glass, and he uttered a yell of fear.

"Don't stir--don't jump!" shouted Bart through the opening thus made.

"We'll be killed!" cried the man.

"No, we won't. Do as I say. I'm on deck, and I'll--"

Bart sized up the situation, counted its risks and possibilities, and
described a sudden forward leap.

The lines were torn and trailing under the horses' feet. He cut the air
in a reckless, but well planned dive.

Bart landed sprawling between the two horses, his knee striking the
carriage pole.

Bracing himself there, he caught out at the head of either horse. With a
firm grip his fingers closed on the bridle reins.

Ahead was a stony wagon track lining a deep gravel pit dangerously near
its edge.

About a hundred feet further on ran the creek, sunk between banks some
fifteen feet high.

Bart drew the bridles taut. He feared the tremendous strain would break
them. The heads of the horses were now held as in a vice, but they
snorted and continued to plunge forward with undiminished speed.

As a wheel landed in a rut full of thick mud, their pace was momentarily
retarded. Bart jerked at the bridles. The horses paused fully, but
pranced and backed.

"Jump--crawl out--quick, now!" shouted Bart breathlessly to the occupant
of the cab.

The colonel had been bouncing around, groaning and yelling ever since he
had awakened to a realization of his desperate plight.

"Wait a minute!" he puffed. "Gently! Wait till I get out. Then you can
go on," was his remarkable concession.

Bart saw the bulky body of the magnate fall, rather than step from the
vehicle. He landed clumsily at the side of the road, rolled up like a
ball, but unhurt.

He was so near to the grinding wheels of the vehicle and kicking hoofs
of the horses that Bart relaxed the bridles.

Instantly the horses sprang forward again, but, once clear of the
colonel's prostrate body, Bart focused his strength on a final mastery
of the maddened steeds.

He drew the bridles at a sharp, taut slant that must have cut their
mouths fearfully at the tenderest part, for they fairly screamed with
pain and terror.

He succeeded in facing them sideways, ran their heads into some brush,
vaulted over them, and, landing safely on his feet in front of them,
grabbed them near the bits and held them snorting and trembling at a
standstill.

Then he unshipped one of the lines and tied it around a sapling, stroked
the horse's heads, and succeeded in quieting them down.

Going back to the road, he discerned Colonel Harrington sitting up
rubbing his head and staring about abstractedly.

Farther away was a flying excited figure. Bart recognized the
disenthroned cabman. They met where the colonel sat.

"All gone to smash, I suppose!" hailed Carey.

"No, a window broken, wheels scraped a little--nothing worse," reported
Bart.

"Where is the team?" panted Carey.

Bart pointed and explained, and the cabman forged ahead with a gratified
snort.

"You stuck till you landed 'em," applauded Carey. "Stirling, you're
nerve all through!"

Bart went up to Colonel Harrington and the latter got on his feet. Bart
could see that either the druggist's potion or his succeeding violent
experience had quite restored the magnate to his original self. He
nursed a slight abrasion on his chin, looked at Bart sheepishly, and
then stepped over to a big bowlder and rested against it.

"Are you feeling all right now, Colonel Harrington?" asked Bart
courteously.

"Me? Now? Ah yes! Quite--er--er--thank you."

Bart was somewhat astonished at the words and manner of his whilom
enemy.

Colonel Harrington looked positively embarrassed. He would glance at
Bart, start to speak, lower his eyes, and, turning pale as he seemed to
remember, and turning red as he seemed to realize, would fumble at his
watch fob, run his fingers through his hair and act flustered generally.

"The cab will be back in a few minutes," remarked Bart. "It was a pretty
bad shaking up, but I hope you are none the worse for it. Good day,
Colonel Harrington."

Bart turned to leave. He heard the colonel spluttering.

"Hold on," ordered the magnate. "I want to give you--I want to give
you--some money," he observed.

"I can't take it, Colonel Harrington," said Bart definitely. "If I have
been of service to you I am glad, but you will remember I was in the
same danger as yourself, and quite anxious to save my own skin."

"Bosh! I mean--maybe," retorted the colonel, getting bombastic, and then
humble.

"Well, put up your money, Colonel," advised Bart. "As I say, if I have
been of service to you I am glad."

"You hold on!" ordered Colonel Harrington, as Bart again moved to leave
the spot.

The speaker poked in his wallet and brought out a strip of paper, which
Bart recognized as the one he had so menacingly waved in his face an
hour previous at the express shed.

Colonel Harrington again poked about in his pockets till he found a
pencil. With somewhat unsteady fingers he inscribed his name at the
bottom of the paper, and handed it to Bart.

"You take that," he directed.

"Why, this is a receipted bill for the damage done to your statue," said
Bart.

"Eighty-five dollars--just so."

"But I haven't paid it!"

"You needn't. Serious mistake--I see that," said the colonel. "That is,
I see it now. Satisified you didn't mean any harm. Sick of whole muddle.
And about getting you discharged and all that rot--didn't mean it.
Forget it! Was a little mad and excited; see!"

"I can't take your receipt for what I haven't paid, and what I am
willing to pay as fast as I can," said Bart.

"Then tear it up--I won't take a cent!" declared Colonel Harrington
obstinately.

"The cab is coming," remarked Bart. "Shall Mr. Carey drive you home?"

"Yes, I suppose so. Come here, quick!"

He grabbed Bart's arm and drew our hero close up to him, as though he
had some pressing intelligence to impart before the cab interrupted.

"Forget it!" he whispered hoarsely.

"About the statue--I'll be glad to," said Bart frankly.

"No--no, the--the--"

"Runaway? I shall not mention it, Colonel Harrington."

The colonel released Bart's arm, but with a desperate groan. It was
evident he was not fully satisfied.

"Sure you'll forget It!" he persisted, very much perturbed. "I don't
mean my abusing you, or the runaway, or--or--I mean I had an accident
after I left you at the express office. Someone hailed me--but you know,
you know!"

The colonel cast a penetrating look on Bart, who shook his head
negatively.

"I don't know, Colonel," he declared.

"Oh, come, now!" croaked the colonel, making a ghastly attempt to give
the statement the aspect of a joke. Honest, you didn't hear anyone call
to me?"

"No," replied Bart.

The cab drove up and halted.

"Don't do any talking. Don't start any gossip about--about--of course
you won't! I've got your word. You're a truthful, reliable boy,
Stirling, and I--I respect you," stumbled on the colonel. "Mum's the
word, and I'll--I'll make you no trouble, see?"

"Thank you, Colonel Harrington," said Bart in a queer tone.

The colonel again regarded him penetratingly, and then got into the cab.
He took the trouble of leaning out and waving his hand as the vehicle
started up. He smiled in a sickly way at Bart, and once made a movement
as if inclined to get out and once more suggest to the young express
agent that he "forget it."

"That man is scared half to death over something," reflected Bart, as he
took a short cut to regain the express office.

CHAPTER XII

THE MYSTERIOUS MR. BAKER

The little express office looked good to Bart as its precincts again
sheltered him.

Things appeared better and clearer to him now than at any time during
the past twenty-four hours, and his heart warmed up as he put his papers
and books in order, saw that the safe was secured, and decided to close
up business for the day.

Doctor Griscom from the hospital had dropped in for a few moments, and
brought some news that lifted something of a cloud from the heart of the
young express agent.

"I do not want to hold out any false hopes," he told Bart, "but there is
a bare possibility that your father may not become totally blind."

"That is blessed news!" cried Bart fervently.

"It is all a question of time, and after that of skill," continued the
surgeon. "Your father must have absolute rest and cheerful, comfortable
surroundings; above all, peace of mind. I shall watch his case, and when
I see the first indication of the services of some skilled specialist
being of benefit to him I will tell you. It will cost you some money,
but I will do all I can to make the expert reasonable in his charges."

"Don't think of that," said Bart impetuously. "With such a hope in view
I am willing to work my finger ends off!"

Bart was, therefore, in high spirits as he left the express office,
padlocking the door securely.

He was anxious to get home and then to the hospital, to impart to his
mother and father in turn the assurance that they had a bread-winner
able to work and glad to do so for their benefit.

Amid the buoyancy of the relief from the continuous strain and troubles
of the day, Bart was bent on a quick dash for home when he remembered
something that changed his plan.

"The roustabout, the poor fellow that I've got the ten dollars for, the
good fellow, if I don't mistake, who saved the books and the contents of
the safe!" exclaimed Bart. "Actually, I had forgotten all about him for
the moment."

Bart stood still thinking, looking around speculatively, his fingers
mechanically touching the bank note in his pocket which Mr. Leslie had
given him in trust.

He did not reflect long. He went at once to the freight car whence he
had seen the ragged arm extended two hours previous, and looked in.

Back at one end were some broken grapevine crates, and it was dim and
shadowy there, so he called out.

"Any one here?"

"Yes," came from the corner, and there was a rustling of straw.

"I guess I know who," said Bart. "Come out of that, my good friend, and
show yourself," he continued heartily.

"What for?" propounded a gloomy, wavering voice.

"What for? that's good!" cried Bart. "Oh, I know who you are, if I don't
know your name."

"Baker will do."

"All right, Mr. Baker, friend Baker, you're true blue and the best
friend I ever had, and I want to shake hands with you, and slap you on
the back, and--help you."

A timid, muffled figure shifted into full outline, but not into clear
view, against the side of the car.

Bart took a step nearer. He promptly caught at one hand of the
slouching figure. Then he regarded it in perplexity.

The roustabout held with his other hand a canvas bag on his head so that
it concealed nearly his entire face.

"Why!" said Bart, reaching suddenly up and momentarily pulling the
impromptu hood aside. "What's the matter now? Where is your beard and
long head of hair?"

"Burned."

"False?"

"Yes."

"Then you were disguised?"

"I tried to be," was responded faintly.

Bart stood for a moment or two queerly regarding the roustabout.

"Mr. Baker," he said finally, "I am bound to respect any wish you may
suggest, but I declare I can't understand you."

"Don't try to," advised the roustabout in a dreary way. "I'm not worth
it."

"Oh, yes, you are."

"And it wouldn't do any good."

"It might. It must!" declared Bart staunchly, "See here, I want to ask
you a few questions and then I want to give you some advice, or rather
tender my very friendly services. Do you know what you have done for me
to-day?"

"No. If I have done anything to help you I am glad of it. You have been
a friend to me--the only friend I've found."

"I'll be a better one--that is, if you will let me," pledged Bart
warmly. "You warned me about the burglars last night; you helped me save
my father's life."

"Anybody would do what I have done."

"No one did but yourself, just the same. Don't be cynical--you're
something of a hero, if you only knew it. It was you who went into the
burning express shed and saved the account books and closed the safe
door."

"Who says so?" muttered Baker.

"I say so, and you know it--don't you?"

Baker made no response.

"Do you know what all this means for me and my family?" went on Bart.
"You have done for me something I can never pay you for, something I can
never forget. You are true blue, Mr. Baker! That's the kind of a
worthless good-for-nothing person you are, and I want to call you my
friend! Hello, now what is the matter?"

The matter was that the roustabout was crying softly like a baby. Bart
was infinitely touched.

"I don't know your secrets," continued Bart earnestly, "and I certainly
shall not pry into them without your permission, but I want to repay
your kindness in some way. I can't rest till I do. All I can do is to
guess out that you are in some trouble, maybe hiding. Well, let me share
your troubles, let me hide you in a more comfortable way than lounging
around cold freight cars with half enough to eat. You've done something
grand in the last twenty-four hours--don't lose sight of that in
mourning over your sins, if you have any, or in running away from some
shadow that scares you. I'm not the only one who thinks you're a hero,
either. There's someone else."

"Is there?" murmured the roustabout weakly.

"There is. It is Mr. Leslie, the express superintendent. I told him
about you. He left this ten dollars for you, and the way he did it ought
to make you proud."

Bart forced the bank note into Baker's hand. The man was shaking like a
leaf from emotion. He stood like one spellbound, unable to take in all
at once the good that was said of him and done him.

"Come," rallied Bart, giving him a ringing slap on the shoulder, "brace
up and be what you have proved yourself to be--a man!"

Baker started electrically. His tones showed some force as he said:

"All right--you've made me feel good. But you don't know a whole lot,
and I can't tell you. You say you're my friend."

"You believe that I am, do you not?"

"Yes, I do, and that's why I don't want to drag you into any
complications. This ten dollars is mine, isn't it?"

"Certainly."

"Will you spend it for me?"

"What do you mean?"

"I want you to give me a pencil and some paper, and I will write out a
list of some things I want. You take it and the ten dollars and bring me
the things here to-morrow. I want you to promise in the meantime,
though, that if you come upon me unawares, or when I'm asleep, or under
any circumstances whatever, you will turn your head away and not look at
my face."

Bart was very much puzzled.

"I think I see how it is," he said after a brief period of reflection,
"you are afraid of being recognized?"

"Think that if you want to, maybe you're right," returned Baker.
"Anyway, I don't want to do anything or have you do anything that will
mix you up in my troubles. My way is the safe way. Will you do what I
ask?"

"Yes," answered Bart promptly. "Can't I get the things you want
to-night?"

"I am afraid not, for most of the stores are closed."

"That's right. Well, then, let me make a suggestion: I have two keys to
the new express office. I'll give you one. After dark, if you don't want
to do it in daylight, go over and unlock the door. Pick out two or three
dry-goods boxes from the heap behind the shed, carry them in and rig up
any kind of private quarters you like at the far corner of the shed.
I'll see that nobody disturbs you. In a couple of hours I will bring you
a blanket from the house and a nice warm lunch, and you can be
comfortable and safe. I will relock the door on you, and if you want to
leave at any time you can unfasten a window and get out."

Baker did not reply. Bart heard him mumbling to himself as though
debating the proposition submitted to him.

"I don't want to make you a lot of trouble," he finally faltered out.

"Of course you don't, and won't," asserted Bart--"you want to give me
pleasure, though, don't you? So you do as I suggest, and I'll sleep a
good deal sounder than if you didn't. Here's the key. I will be over to
the express office about eight o'clock. Is it a bargain?"

"Yes," answered the strange man.

CHAPTER XIII

"HIGHER STILL!"

About eight o'clock that evening Bart came down to the express office
carrying a lunch basket and a blanket, as he had promised his erratic
friend, Mr. Baker.

The young express agent had spent a busy day, and the evening promised
to continue to furnish plenty for him to do.

He had the infinite pleasure of seeing his mother's face brighten up
magically, when he related sufficient to her of the day's experience to
satisfy her that the revenue from the express business was secure.

She had received some intimation of this from her husband's lips an hour
previous at the hospital, and said that Mr. Stirling was feeling
relieved and hopeful over the visit of the express superintendent, and
the prospects of Bart succeeding to his position.

Bart very much wished to visit his father at once, but Mrs. Stirling
said he had quieted for the night, was in no pain or mental distress,
and it might not be wise to disturb him.

Bart told his mother something about the roustabout and their friendly
relations, and the bottle of hot coffee, home-made biscuit sandwiches,
and half a pie were put up for Bart's pensioner with willing and
grateful care.

Bart also took a shade lantern with him, and lighted it when he came to
the express office. He found the padlock loose.

He glanced over to the far dim end of the place. Baker had built a
regular cross-corner barricade of packing boxes, man-high.

Bart set the lantern on the bench and approached the roustabout's
hide-out.

"Are you there, Mr. Baker?" he inquired.

"Yes, I did just as you told me to do," came the reply, but the speaker
did not show himself.

"Well, here's a blanket. Can you make up a comfortable bed?"

"Oh, yes, I've got a broad board on a slant, and plenty of room."

Bart lifted over the lunch basket.

"There you are!" he said briskly--"now enjoy yourself, and don't take a
single care about anything. Have you made out that list of things you
want?"

"Yes, here it is," and Baker handed over a piece of paper inclosing the
ten-dollar bill.

"I'll attend to this promptly," said Bart. "Supposing I look it over
right here? There may be some things you have noted down I want to ask
you about."

"Maybe you'd better," assented Baker.

Bart sat down near the lantern. The bit of paper was covered with crude
handwriting, the same as that which had announced to him that afternoon
that the contents of the safe in the old express shed ruins were safe.

The list was not a very long one, but it was not easy to fill.

Baker gave the measurements of a very cheap cotton suit and the size of
a cap with a very deep peak. He also notated a green eye-shade, a pair
of goggles, and the ingredients for making a dark brown face stain.

In addition to this he wanted a dark gray hair switch, and it was easy
to discern that his main idea was to prepare an elaborate disguise.

"All right," reported Bart, as he finished reading the list. "I'll have
the things here just as early in the morning as I can get them. I'm
going to put out the lantern, but I will then hand it over to you with
some matches. It has got a shade, and you can focus the rays so they
will not show outside. Here are a couple of magazines--I brought them
from the house."

"You're mighty kind," said the refugee. "Hold on. I want to tell you
something. Of course you think I'm acting strange. Some day, though, if
things come out right, I'll explain to you, and you will say I did just
right. There's another thing: you may think from my actions I am some
desperate character. I hope I may burn up right in this shed to-night if
I'm not telling the truth when I say to you that I never touched a
dishonored penny, never harmed a soul, never did a wrong thing
knowingly."

"I have confidence in your word, Mr. Baker," said Bart simply.

"Thank you, I'll prove I deserve it yet," declared the strange man.

There was a spell of silence. Finally Bart decided to venture a question
on a theme he was very curious about.

"Do you know Colonel Jeptha Harrington?" he asked suddenly.

"Hoo--eh?"

He had startled Baker--his incoherent mutterings persuaded Bart of
this.

"Don't you want to tell?" continued Bart. "All right, only it was you
who waved an arm at him from the freight car this afternoon, wasn't it,
now?"

"Well, yes, it was," admitted Baker in a low tone.

"And you said something to him."

"Yes, I did. See here, I heard him calling you down and threatening you,
for I slunk up to the shed here to see what he was up to. I'm interested
in him, I am, and so are others. When I got back in hiding I spoke out,
I told him something--something that made his crabbed old soul wizen up,
something that scared the daylights out of him. He had a brother, once.
He's dead, now. I said something that made this old rascal think his
brother's ghost had come back to earth to haunt him."

"How could you do that?" inquired Bart, very much interested.

"Because I had certain knowledge. Don't ask any further. It will all
come out, some day--the day I'm waiting and working for. You saw how he
was affected. Well, I threatened things that laid him out flat if he
dared to so much as place a straw in your path."

"I understand, now," said Bart.

He waited for a minute or two, hoping Baker would divulge something
further, but he did not do so, and Bart said good night, secured the
padlock on the outside, and left the place with a parting cheery
direction to his strange pensioner to sleep soundly and rest well.

The little ones were in bed when Bart got home, but his mother and the
girls were sitting on the porch. Pretty well tired out, Bart joined
them, and they all sat watching the last of the display of fireworks
over near the common.

"This has been a pretty dull Fourth for you, Bart," said his mother
sympathizingly.

"It has been a very busy Fourth, mother," returned Bart cheerfully--"I
might say a very hopeful, happy Fourth. Except for the anxiety about
father, I think I should feel very grateful and contented."

A graceful rocket parted the air at a distance, followed by the
delighted shouts of juvenile spectators.

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