"Hello " exclaimed Fenn Masterson, as he opened the front door of his home, in response to a ring, and admitted his chum, Bart Keene. "Glad to see you, Bart. Come on in." "What's the matter with you?" demanded Bart, throwing a strap full of books into a corner of the hall, as if he cared very little for the volumes. "Why weren't you at school to-day, Stumpy?"

"Nothing to do till tomorrow " sang out Bob Layton, as he came out of high school at Clintonia on Friday afternoon, his books slung over his shoulder, and bounded down the steps three at a time. "And not much to do then, except just what we want to," chimed in Joe Atwood, throwing his cap into the air and catching it deftly as it came down. "You fellows do just love to work, don't you?" put in Herb Fennington, with an air of self-righteousness that was belied by the merry twinkle in his eyes.

"What are you looking so glum about this morning, Stumpy?" asked Ned Wilding as he greeted his chum, Fenn Masterson, otherwise known as "Stumpy" because of his short, stout figure. "Haven't you got your lessons, or are you going to be expelled?" "I'm not to be expelled but some one else is, Ned." "What's that? Some one going to be expelled?" asked Bart Keene, coming up in time to hear what Fenn said. "John Newton is," replied Stumpy.

"Hold on there Go easy, now, fellows," cautioned Bart Keene to his two chums, as they stole softly along in the darkness. "What are you making all that racket for, Ned?" "It wasn't me; it was Frank." "I couldn't help it," came from Frank Roscoe in a whisper. "I stumbled on a stone."

"All aboard." Ralph Fairbanks swung into the cab of No. with the lever hooked up for forward motion, and placed a firm hand on the throttle. It looked as though half the working force of the railroad, and every juvenile friend he had ever known in Stanley Junction, had come down to the little old depot that beautiful summer afternoon to especially celebrate the greatest event in his active railroad career.

"Get out of here " said Jack Knight, head towerman of the Great Northern Railroad, at Stanley Junction. "Why, I ain't doing no harm," retorted Mort Bemis, ex-leverman of the depot switch tower. "And stay out. Hear me?" demanded Knight, big as a bear, and quite as gruff. "What's the call for sitting down on a fellow this way, I'd like to know " muttered Bemis sullenly.

The Keene household was suddenly aroused from peacefulness, one quiet afternoon, by a loud thud as if something had fallen. It was followed by a report like an explosion. Then, from Bart's room, sounded a series of yells. "Wow Ouch Jimminities " "He's hurt " exclaimed his sister Alice, as she ran toward her brother's room. As she entered she saw him running about the apartment, which was filled with smoke, holding one hand in the other. Drops of blood were coming from his fingers.

The Daylight Express rolled up to the depot at Stanley Junction, on time, circling past the repair shops, freight yard and roundhouse, a thing of life and beauty. Stanley Junction had become a wide-awake town of some importance since the shops had been moved there, and when a second line took it in as a passing point, the old inhabitants pronounced the future of the Junction fully determined. Engine No. 6, with its headlight shining like a piece of pure crystal, its metal trimmings furbished up bright and natty-looking, seemed to understand that it was the model of the road, and sailed...

"Those men will bear watching--they are up to some mischief, Fairbanks." "I thought so myself, Mr. Fogg. I have been watching them for some time." "I thought you would notice them--you generally do notice things." The speaker with these words bestowed a glance of genuine pride and approbation upon his companion, Ralph Fairbanks. They were a great pair, these two, a friendly, loyal pair, the grizzled old veteran fireman, Lemuel Fogg, and the clear-eyed, steady-handed young fellow who had risen from roundhouse wiper to switchtower service, then to fireman, then to engineer, and who now pulled...

"That's the way to line 'em out, Ned " "Go on now Take another You can get home " "Wow That wins the game Hurrah for Ned Wilding " Those were some of the shouts, amid a multitude of others, that came from scores of boyish throats as they watched the baseball game between the Darewell High School and the Lakeville Preparatory Academy. The occasion was the annual championship struggle, and the cries resulted from Ned's successful batting of the ball far over the center fielder's head.