e," Tom burst out, in vast excitement. "'Tis
Mind-Your-Eye. They's a cut road from here t' the railway. 'Tis but
half a mile, lad."

Followed by Archie, Tom Topsail plunged into the bush. They did not
need to be told that the mixed accommodation was labouring on a steep
grade from Red Brook Bridge. They did not need to be told that a
little fire, builded by the track before she ran past, a flaring
signal in the fog, would stop her. With them it was merely a problem
of getting to the track in time to start that fire.

CHAPTER XXXVI

_And Last: In Which Archie Armstrong Hangs His Head in His
Father's Office, the Pale Little Clerk Takes a Desperate
Chance, Bill o' Burnt Bay Loses His Breath, and there is a
Grand Dinner in Celebration of the Final Issue, at Which
the Amazement of the Crew of the "Spot Cash" is Equalled
by Nothing in the World Except Their Delight_

It was the first of September. A rainy day, this, in St. John's: the
wind in the east, thick fog blowing in from the open. Sir Archibald's
grate was crackling in its accustomed cheerful way. Rain lashed the
office windows at intervals; a melancholy mist curtained the harbour
from view. Sir Archibald was anxious. He drummed on the desk with his
finger-tips; he paced the office floor, he scowled, he pursed his
lips, he dug his restless hands deep in his pockets. The expected had
not happened. It was now two o'clock. Sir Archibald was used to going
home at three. And it was now two o'clock--no, by Jove! it was eight
after. Sir Archibald walked impatiently to the window. It was evident
that the fog was the cause of his impatience. He scowled at it. No,
no (thought he); no schooner could make St. John's harbour in a fog
like that. And the winds of the week had been fair winds from the
French Shore. Still the expected had not happened. _Why_ had the
expected not happened?

A pale little clerk put his head in at the door in a very doubtful
way.

"Skipper of the _Black Eagle_, sir," said he. "Clerk, too," he added.

"Show 'em in," Sir Archibald growled.

What happened need not be described. It was both melancholy and stormy
without; there was a roaring tempest within. Sir Archibald was not
used to giving way to aggravation; but he was now presently embarked
on a rough sea of it, from which, indeed, he had difficulty in
reaching quiet harbour again. It was not the first interview he had
had with the skipper and clerk of the _Blac