Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 1, 2025
"Fifteen dollars!" said Baker. Lem Wacker jumped to his feet, excited. He shot a hand into a pocket, drew it out again holding a pocketbook, ran over its contents, and shouted! "Sixteen dollars!" "Twenty!" cried Baker. "I am offered twenty dollars," said Bart, outwardly cool as a cucumber, inwardly greatly perturbed over the incident in hand, and hastening to close it in favor of a friend.
"Yes, it was the same one that his scapegrace nephew, Dale Wacker, was caught peddling the stolen pickles in. I saw Lem painting it fresh out in his shop only two days ago. You know I live just beyond him." "What color?" "Red." "Then Lem Wacker must know something about this burglary!" declared Bart. "I am sorry," again said the night watchman, after a long thoughtful silence on the part of Bart.
Lem Wacker felt a smart whack, went whirling back over the threshold, and the next instant measured his length, sprawling on the ground outside of the express shed. Lem Wacker rolled over, then sat up, rubbed his head in a half-dazed manner, and muttered in a silly, sheepish way. "Lem Wacker," said Bart, "I have got just a few words to say to you, and that ends matters between us.
Evans," he hailed, as he recognized the regular flagman on duty for whom Wacker had been substituting for three days past. "Glad to see you back. Are you all well?" "Eh? oh, young Stirling. Say, you've had a fire. I hear your father was burned." "He is quite seriously hurt," answered Bart gravely. "Too bad. I have troubles of my own, though." "What is the matter, Mr. Evans?"
They talked a long time in the sitting room, and then Lem went out and hitched up. He came into the kitchen before he went away, and told me he had a chance to sell the rig, and was going to do it, and had to go down to the Sharp Corner to treat the men and close the bargain." "I see," murmured Bart. "Who were the men, Mrs. Wacker?" "I don't know.
When Wacker subbed for the old switchman, did he have a special key?" "N no," answered the watchman hesitatingly, "for I remember Wacker loaned me the old switchman's key the first night. Hold on, though!" cried McCarthy with a spurt of memory, "it comes back to me clear now.
The object the mysterious robber was utilizing for burglarious purposes, was the signal flag used at the switch shanty where Lem Wacker had been doing substitute duty that day. It consisted of a three foot iron rod, sharpened at the end. At the blunt end the strip of red flag was wound, near the sharp end the conventional track torpedo was held in place by its tin strap.
"Don't you torture me!" cried Wacker irritably "don't you let him," he blared out to the quacking magnate. "I won't say a word. Let Harrington do as he pleases. He's the king bee! Only, just this, Harrington, you take care of me or I'll blow the whole business." "Yes, yes," stammered the colonel in a mean, servile way, approaching the litter, "leave it all to me, Wacker.
The animal was a big half-breed mastiff and shepherd dog that Lem Wacker had introduced to his railroad friends with great unction, one Christmas day. He had claimed it to be a gift from a friend just returned from Europe, who had brought over the famous litter of pups of which it was one. Wacker had estimated its value at five hundred dollars. Next day he cut the price in half.
"You're a good one to guess that out," muttered the watchman. "Why, say " McCarthy gave a prodigious start and put his hand up to his head, as if some idea had occurred to him with tremendous force. "You mentioned Lem Wacker. It's funny, but last week Wacker bought a new wagon." "Are you sure of that?"
Word Of The Day
Others Looking