But before his benefactor could withdraw his hand from his pocket, Bob exclaimed: 

“I have my lunch with me, right here in this box, Mr. Perkins.  I’m just as much obliged to you, though.”

A moment the railroad president hesitated, then realizing from the look on Bob’s face that he would give offense should he press his gift, he smiled and said: 

“All right, son.  Just as you wish.  But I want you to be my guest at breakfast in the morning.”

And again shaking hands with Bob, Mr. Perkins left the car.

CHAPTER VIII

BOB’S LUCK CONTINUES

After the railroad president had left the car, the brakeman found a chair for Bob, and showed him how to work its mechanism so that he could drop it back when he wished to go to sleep, all the while eyeing the poorly-dressed lad with evident curiosity, which finally he could no longer restrain, and he asked: 

“Have you known Mr. Perkins long?”

“No,” replied Bob.  “I only met him to-night.”

“You must have made a hit with him.”

“No.  I just think he is very kind.”

“Huh!  That’s a new one.  You’re the first one that ever called old Perkins kind.  If you could hear some of the men talk about how he has treated them, you wouldn’t think he was so kind.”

“I don’t know about that.  I only know he was very kind to me,” returned Bob, “and I like him.  If his men were honest and square with him, I think he would be with them.”

The approach of the train to a station, necessitating the member of the train crew going about his duty, prevented him from plying Bob further with questions, much to the latter’s relief.

Placing his box of lunch on the floor beside him, Bob leaned back in his chair, partially closed his eyes, and gazed about him at the other passengers.  But there was none who interested him, and he soon turned his mind to the contemplation of his position.

It was with difficulty that he could realize that he was actually on his way to the great West.  But the steady motion of the train, the whirl of the wheels, and the occasional blast of the engine’s whistle, told him that he was not dreaming, and after enjoying for a while the sensation of travelling he began to think about what he should do when he reached Chicago.

He had read much of the enormous area the city covered, and he wondered if he would have any difficulty in finding the home of the woman whose husband was to form such a necessary link in his travelling arrangements.

“Suppose she shouldn’t be at home, or suppose Mr. Cameron doesn’t feel like helping me?  I guess under those circumstances it would be necessary for me to get a job somewhere.  But I won’t be an errand boy in a grocery store,” he promised himself.  But with the custom of looking only on the bright side of things, which is a fortunate habit of youth, he began to think of the good times he would have riding the horses on the plains, and of watching the cowboys as they roped the steers and branded them.  And his fancy even pictured himself as a successful participant in various nerve-stirring contests.