the last signs of the dirty stuff on me. I'm going home to make a new start."
"Heaven bless you in your new resolution, Mr. Fogg!" cried Ralph, his own tones none too steady.
"I'll—I'll have something to say to you after we get home," continued Fogg. "Just leave me alone till then."
Something was working on the mind of the fireman, this was very plain—something for good, Ralph fervently hoped. The young engineer took his cue promptly. During all the trip to Stanley Junction he avoided all conversation except commonplace routine remarks. Up to the time of leaving Bridgeport Ralph had waited expectantly for some sign of the youth he had known as Marvin Clark. Clark or Porter, his new acquaintance did not put in an apeparance, nor did Dave Bissell return.
"Dave did not succeed in finding him," decided Ralph, as No. 999 started up. "I'm sorry." Dave had been pretty positive as to the identity of his cousin, and the elusive actions of his relative seemed to verify his recognition.
"Traveling under false colors, I fear," reflected the young engineer. "A pretty bold and difficult imposture, I should think. Are his credentials false or stolen? But how to explain his motive?
