At first Bob had protested, but the vice-president silenced him by saying that the service he had rendered the railroad was worth much more than the clothes.

Dinner and theatre were one whirl of pleasure to the boy.  And after he had been put in care of the conductor of the limited, had bidden good-bye to Mr. Nichols and the detectives, who all gathered to see him off, bringing various little presents, and the train was in motion, he sat and pondered over the series of events.

But his surprises were not ended, for when he opened the envelope containing his pass, he found two crisp fifty-dollar bills pinned to a card, which said: 

“For Bob Chester, with the compliments of the Great Western Railroad.”

Nature, however, asserted herself at last, and Bob went to sleep.

Interesting because of its novelty, the journey proceeded without further incidents, and in due course Bob reached Fairfax.

CHAPTER XVII

SEEKING A JOB

The stopping of the Limited at the little settlement of Fairfax was sufficient to arouse the curiosity of the dozen or so men who were lounging about the station, and when they saw that such an unusual proceeding was to allow a mere boy to alight, they stared at him with unfeigned interest.

“Must be the son of some big bug,” hazarded one of the idlers.

“Or else he was put off for trying to beat his way,” declared another, whose surly disposition was evident in his words.

“Can’t a person get off here without starting a guessing match?” commented a third.

“Of course,” replied the surly man.  “But it don’t seem natural.”

During these remarks Bob was engrossed in gazing at the place he had chosen in which to build his fortune, and the prospect was not reassuring.

About half a mile from the station he could see a score or more of houses built in all sorts of shapes, and possessing anything but an attractive appearance.  Beyond the settlement and on all sides, the prairies stretched in awesome vastness.

As he surveyed the surroundings, Bob could not restrain a sigh, but quickly checked it as a pleasant-faced, powerfully built man stepped briskly from the cabin which served as station and said cheerily: 

“You’re Bob Nichols, I suppose.  My name is Henry Thomas.  Your father wired me to be on the lookout for you.  I had to report the train or I’d have come out sooner.  What can I do for you?”

Hearing himself addressed as Nichols was a distinct shock to the boy, but to be taken for the son of the vice-president of the railroad completely dumfounded him, and for a moment he was on the point of denying the assumption.  Then his promise to adopt the name recurred to him and he decided that Mr. Nichols’ failure to disclaim relationship was probably with a purpose, so he just muttered something as though in answer to the first question and said aloud: