With the aid of wiper Ralph soon got the dummy ready for action. It was a long time since the young engineer had done roundhouse duty. He did it well now, and thanked the strict training of his early apprentice experience. The jerky spiteful little engine rolled over the turntable in a few minutes time, and the claim agent pulled off his coat and looked to Ralph for orders.
They took a switch and headed down the clear out track. At a crossing a man came tearing towards them, arms waving, long beard flying, and his face showing the greatest urgency and excitement.
"Mishter Fry! Mishter Fry!" he panted out, "I haf just heard--"
"Nothing for you, Cohen," shouted the claim agent.
"I hear dere vas some boxes. Sthop! sthop! I've got the retty gash."
"Ready-Cash Cohen," exclaimed Fry to Ralph. "Always on hand when there's any cheap wreck salvage lying around loose. That fellow seems to scent a wreck like a vulture."
"I've heard of him," remarked Ralph with a smile.
They had free swing on the out track until they neared the scene of the wreck. Here they took a siding and left the dummy, to walk to the spot where the two freight cars had gone over the embankment.
"Hello!" suddenly ejaculated the claim agent with tremendous surprise and emphasis.
"Excuse me, Mishter Fry, but that salvage--"
Ralph burst out into a hearty peal of laughter. Clinging to the little bobtail tender of the dummy was Ready-Cash Cohen.
"If I vas'nt, vould I be Chonny-on-de-spot, Mishter Fry?" chuckled Cohen cunningly.
He followed them as they walked down the tracks. When they reached the point where the two freights had gone over the embankment, Fry clambered down its slant and for some time poked about the tangled mass of wreckage below.
"Vill dere haf to be an appraisal, my tear friend?" anxiously inquired Cohen, pressing forward as the claim agent reappeared.
"No," responded Fry shortly. "There's a chicken car with live and dead mixed up in the tangle. Come, Cohen, how much for the lot?"
"Schickens?" repeated Cohen disgustedly--"not in my line, Mishter Fry. Schickens are an expense. Dey need feeding."
"Don't vant dem at any price. But de boxes, Mishter Fry--vot's in dose boxes?"
"See here," observed Fry, "I'm not giving information to the enemy. There they are, badly shaken up but they look meaty, don't they? If you want to bid unsight unseen, name your figure."