Whenever the conductor walked through the car, Bob inquired anxiously as to when he should receive the important piece of paper back again, but the man in charge of the train only answered gruffly: 

“You’ll get it back soon enough, if it’s all right.”

“But if it isn’t?” asked Bob, in a boyish eagerness to know the exact conditions he was facing.

“You’ll be put off the train, anyhow, and perhaps you will have to go to jail.”

As the conductor announced this alternative, he watched Bob closely, and the start the latter gave at the mention of the possibility of arrest, only confirmed the man in his suspicion that there was something irregular about the boy’s having the free transportation.  But as the reader knows, it was no thought of the pass being spurious that disturbed Bob.  The word “jail” had brought to his mind his unpleasant experience in New York.

From thinking about his arrest and the men who had been its cause, Bob went over in his mind all the events that had transpired since that momentous happening, yet he had no regret at the course he had chosen.

Not long after daylight, as the train entered what Bob could see was a good-sized city, and stopped at the station, the boy decided he would get out and walk up and down the platform in order to stretch his legs.

Evidently never thinking the lad would be astir so early, the brakeman had neglected to obey his instructions and keep close watch on Bob, so that his leaving the car was unnoticed.

Seeing a place where he could get a drink of water, Bob walked toward it.

Just as he was in the midst of drinking from the cup, he was stupefied to hear the snorting of an engine, and, upon turning his head, to see the train on which he had been riding disappearing from the station.

With a cry of alarm, Bob dashed after it, shouting: 

“Wait!  Stop the train!  The conductor’s got my pass!”

But the few officials about paid no heed to the lad’s frantic cries, and the train continued on its way, while Bob was left in a strange place, bereft of his pass, and without knowing what to do in order to regain possession of the precious piece of paper which was to carry him to Fairfax.

CHAPTER XIII

BOB STARTS AGAIN

Bob’s lusty shouts, as he vainly tried to stop the train, drew the attention of the few employees in the station at so early an hour, and they gathered about him, taking mental stock of his worn clothes and his honest face, as they approached.

“What’s the matter?  Nobody here to meet you?” asked one of the men, on whose hat were the words, “Station Master.”

“This isn’t a very convenient hour to meet any one.  Where do your people live?  We can direct you how to get to them.”

Not having heard the words uttered by Bob, the agent’s inference that the boy was disappointed at finding no one to meet him, was natural.  But Bob soon disillusioned him.