“Hello!” jerked out the Cardysville express agent.  “Sort of startled me.”

“Are you Mr. Pope?” inquired Bart.

“Yes, that’s me,” assented the other.  “Stranger here? looking for me?”

“I am,” answered Bart.  “My name is Stirling.  I work at the express office at Pleasantville.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard of you,” said Peter Pope.  “The express inspector wrote me about you.  He said you was a young kid, sort of green in the business, who might drop in on me to get some points on the business.”

“Quite so,” nodded Bart with a side smile, “catching on,” as the phrase goes, and at once falling in with the way the inspector was working matters.  “We can’t learn too much about the express business, you know, and I thought that by comparing notes with you we might dig out something of mutual benefit.”

“You bet!” responded Pope, perking up quite grandly.  “The Vice-President of the express company is my cousin.  I’ve got a big pull.  Soon as I get the ropes learned, I’m going for a manager’s job in the city.”

“That will be quite fine,” said Bart.  “I brought some books and blanks with me, and, if you can spare the time, I would like to have you see how our system strikes you.”

“Sure.  Come in—­no, that is, I’ll bring out a chair.  I keep only one record.  I’ve got this business simplified down to a lead pencil and a scratch book, see?”

Bart did “see,” and knew that the express inspector had “seen,” also.  He wondered why Pope did not take him into the office.  He marveled still more as, watching Pope, he noticed he hesitated at the door of the express shed.  Then Pope moved forward as if actually unwilling to enter the place.

Half a minute after he had disappeared within the shed, Pope came rushing out, pale and flustered.  He tumbled over the chair he was bringing to Bart, and a book he carried went flying from under his arm into the dirt of the road beyond the platform.

“Why,” exclaimed Bart, in some surprise, “what is the matter, Mr. Pope?”

“Matter!” gasped Pope, his eyes rolling, as he backed away from the doorway, “say, that place is haunted!”

“What place?”

“The express room.  I’ve been worried for an hour.  It’s nigh tuckered me out.”

“What has?” inquired Bart

“Groans, hisses, rustlings.  I thought a while back that someone was hiding in among the express stuff, and trying to scare me.  ’Taint so, though.  I went among it, and there’s no place for anybody to hide.”

“Oh, pshaw!” said Bart reassuringly, “you are only nervous, Mr. Pope.  It’s some live freight, likely.  Can I take a look?”

“Sure—­wish you would.  I’ve been posting up on express business, you see, maybe that’s the matter.  Read about fellows hiding in boxes, and jumping out and murdering the messenger.  Read about enemies sending a man exploding bombs, and blowing him to pieces.”