“But I made that all right; at least, I wrote a note asking Mr. Perkins to take the porter back again,” answered Bob innocently.

The overheard message had a salutary effect upon both the operator and agent, and they took a new interest in the boy who was a protege of the railroad president.

After asking Bob about the incident of the parlor car, they told him to make himself comfortable, and when he felt hungry to let them know.

“I could eat now,” smiled Bob, his troubles vanished.

“Then I’ll have one of my men go with you to a restaurant just up the street a little way.”

“You’re very kind, but I can go alone,” replied Bob.

“I don’t doubt it,” laughed the station master.  “But, after that wire from Chicago to Jenkins, I don’t want anything to happen to you while I am responsible.

“Hey, Tom,” he called to one of the trainmen, “take this boy up to Sweeney’s, and see that he has a good feed.”

In that mysterious manner in which news travels, word had been passed of the instructions to Jenkins, and the man hailed as Tom gladly accepted his task, saying: 

“Come on, Bob.  When you’ve tasted Sweeney’s wheat cakes, you’ll always remember Randolph.”

“I think I’ll remember it, anyway,” smiled Bob, as he set out for the restaurant with his guide.

Bob’s appetite had not been in the least impaired by the unpleasant experience through which he had passed, and he ate three plates of griddle cakes.

“My, but those cakes sure were good,” he observed, smacking his lips with relish.

His companion, with good-natured patience, had watched the boy eat, and, as Bob expressed his approval of Sweeney’s food, he said: 

“Better have another plate.  You’ll never get any cakes quite as good as Sweeney’s till you get back to Randolph.”

Though with evident reluctance, Bob declined, and, after paying for the meal, they returned to the station.

By the time of their arrival, more trainmen were on duty, and to each the story of Bob’s getting left had been told.

As a result, when they saw the boy, they smiled at him, and proffered good-natured comments.

“Feel less hungry, now?” asked the station master, as Tom and Bob entered his office.

“Yes, thank you,” replied the latter.  “Sweeney surely can cook griddle cakes!  I wish he lived out in Fairfax.”

“Take him along,” laughed Tom, “and start in business.  All Sweeney needs is a flame to cook on, and the fixin’s.”

While they were talking, one of the telegraph operators came in, with a despatch for the agent.

“Here’s Jenkins’ answer,” said he, holding out the sheet of yellow paper.

Taking it, the station master read aloud: 

“Robinson, Randolph:  Will leave pass as
instructed.  Square me with the boy, if you can. 
Buy him all he wants to eat, and I’ll settle.