the black streaked face he
had tried to survey at the express shed window the night previous.

"My flag's gone, too," muttered old Evans, turning over things in a vain
search for it. "I'll have a word or two for Lem Wacker when it comes to
settling day, I'm thinking. He comes up to the house late last night and
tells me he don't care to work for me any longer."

"Did he?" murmured Bart thoughtfully. "Why not, I wonder?"

"Oh, he flared up big and lofty, and said he had a better job in view."

Bart went on his way surmising a good deal and suspecting more.

He made it a point to pass by the ruins of the old express shed, and he
found there what he expected to find--the missing flag from the switch
shanty; only the rod was bare, the little piece of red bunting having
been burned away.

Bart dismissed this matter from his mind and all other disturbing
extraneous affairs, massing all his faculties for the time being on
getting properly equipped for business.

He selected a clean, plain board, and with the marking outfit painted
across it in six-inch letters that could be plainly read at a distance
the words:

EXPRESS OFFICE.

This Bart nailed to the door jamb in such a way that it was visible from
three directions.

Next he started to carry outside and pile neatly at the blind end of the
building all the boards, boxes and other debris littering up the room,
swept it, and selected two packing cases and nailed them up into a
convenient impromptu desk, manufactured a bench seat out of some loose
boards, set his pen, ink and paper in order, and felt quite ready for
business.

He had gained a pretty clear idea the day previous from his father as to
the Fourth of July express service routine.

The fireworks deliveries had been the main thing, but as these had been
destroyed that part of the programme was off the sheet.

At eight o'clock the morning express would bring in its usual quota, but
this would be held over until the following day except what was marked
special or perishable. There would be no out express matter owing to the
fact that it was a holiday.

"I can manage nicely, I think," Bart told himself, as, an hour later, he
ran the truck down to the site of the burned express shed and stood by
the tracks waiting.

A freight engine soon came to the spot, backing down the express car.
Its engineer halted with a jerk and a vivid:

"Hello!"

He had not heard of the fire, and he stared with interest at