“Jenkins.”

At the words proclaiming the conductor’s evident anxiety over how Bob felt toward him, they all laughed.

“It’ll do Jenkins good to worry a little,” commented Tom.  Then, as an idea occurred to him, he struck his thigh, and exclaimed:  “I say, Jenkins is an awful miser.  Let’s put up a joke on him.  We’ll take a dozen of the boys, have a feed at Sweeney’s, and charge it to Jenkins.”

“That’s the idea!  Great!  Fine!” were some of the remarks that greeted the suggestion.

But on Bob’s face there was a look of doubt, as he said: 

“I don’t think that would be exactly fair, would it?”

“Why not?” asked several.

“Because Mr. Jenkins would know I couldn’t eat so much.”

Tom, however, was loath to abandon his joke, and argued: 

“But he said for Robinson to square him with you, didn’t he?”

“Why, yes.”

“Then, Robinson can tell him the feed for the dozen of us was the only way he could do it.”

Though he did not wish to be a spoil-sport, Bob, however, did not approve of the plan.  Consequently, it was with relief he beheld a large, red-faced man, in overalls and jumper, enter the station master’s office, exclaiming as he caught sight of the boy: 

“Are you the kid Conductor Jenkins left here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How’d you like to go over to Kansas City on my freight train?”

“First-rate.  I never rode on a freight, and I’d like to.”

“You’ll never want to again,” commented Tom.  “What’ll become of our feed if you go?”

“Oh, we can have it, just the same,” returned another.

Bob, however, was too engrossed with the prospect of riding on a freight train, to overhear the remark.

At first, the station master had thought to protest against letting his charge go, but, as he noticed the boy’s eagerness, he said: 

“Hosmer, shake hands with Bob Chester.  Don’t let anything happen to him.  He’s a special friend of ‘Old Man’ Perkins.  When you get to Kansas City, take him to the ticket agent, and be sure he gets the pass all right.”

“Never fear; I’ll stay with him till his train’s in, and then introduce him to the conductor.  Come on, Bob.  Train’s waiting.”

Quickly saying good-bye to the station master and the others, and thanking them for their kindness, Bob followed the big conductor, and was soon started on his way to Fairfax again, aboard the freight train.

CHAPTER XIV

AT THE THROTTLE OF A FREIGHT ENGINE

Taking Bob to the caboose, the freight conductor made him known to the brakemen who were lolling about, smoking.

“So you’re the kid Miser Jenkins thought stole your pass?” exclaimed one of the trainmen, after a searching scrutiny of the boy.  “He must be losing his eyesight.  That face of yours ought to vouch for you, if nothing else.  Crooks don’t have such honest faces.”