“What’s this?” he inquired, running over the pages Bart had last been working on.

“That is a list of losers by the fire,” explained Bart.

“This is from memory?”

“Yes, Mr. Leslie—­but I have a good one, and I think the list is tolerably correct.”

“I am very much pleased,” admitted the superintendent—­“those claims are our main anxiety in a case like this.  I understand the contents of the safe were destroyed.”

“I fear so,” assented Bart gravely.  “The explosion was so sudden, and my father was blinded, so there was no opportunity to close it.  I tried to reach it after rescuing him, but the flames drove me back.”

Mr. Leslie was silent for a few moments.  He seemed to be thinking.  His glance roamed speculatively about the place, taking in the layout critically, then finally Bart was conscious that his shrewd, burrowing eyes were scanning him closely.

“How old are you, Stirling?” asked the superintendent abruptly.

“Nearly nineteen.”

“I suppose you know something about the routine here?”

“I have helped my father a little for the past month or two—­yes, sir.”

“And have improved your opportunities, judging from the common-sense way you have got things into temporary running order,” commented Leslie.

The speaker took out his watch.  Then, glancing through the doorway, he arose suddenly, with the words: 

“Ah! there he is, now.  I suppose you couldn’t be here about four o’clock this afternoon?”

“Why, certainly,” answered Bart promptly.  “People are likely to be around making inquiries, and I have a delivery to make this afternoon, as I told you, sir.”

“I intend to see your father,” said Mr. Leslie, “and I want to get back to the city to-night.  I may have some orders for you, so we’ll call it four, sharp.”

“I will be here, sir.”

The superintendent stepped outside.  Evidently he had made an appointment, for he was met by the freight agent of the B. & M., who knew Bart and nodded to him.

As the two men strolled slowly over to the ruins of the express shed, Bart heard Mr. Leslie remark: 

“That’s a smart boy in there.”

“And a good one,” supplemented the freight agent.

Bart experienced a thrill of pleasure at the homely compliment.  He tried to get back to business, but he found himself considerably flustered.

All the morning his hopes and plans had drifted in one definite direction—­to get some assurance of permanent employment for the future.

The only work he had ever done was here at the express office for his father.  It was a daring prospect to imagine that he, a mere boy, would be allowed to succeed to a grown man’s position and salary—­and yet Bart had placed himself in line for it with every prompting of diligence and duty.

Mr. Leslie and the freight agent spent half an hour at the ruins.  Bart could see by their gestures that they were animatedly discussing the situation, and they seemed to be closely looking over the ground with a view to locating a site for a new express shed.