RECALLED AND DISMISSED.
AFTER the unexpected honor shown him by the boys of the 50th, Myles,
accompanied by Billings, went to the hotel, where they both enjoyed the
luxury of a much-needed bath. When they were ready to dress, Billings,
gazing ruefully at his soiled linen, called out to Myles:
“I say, old man, haven’t you got a clean shirt to lend a fellow!”
“Why, yes,” replied Myles, “of course I can lend you one, but—”
here he held out the garment in question, and looked at it
doubtfully—“don’t you think it will be a little large for you?”
“Oh, that’s all right,” answered Billings, cheerfully. “I always like
my things loose and roomy.”
He certainly had what he liked in this case; for, when arrayed in the
shirt and one of Myles’ standing collars, which was three sizes too
large, there was little to be seen of him below the eyes that twinkled
merrily over the edge of the encircling linen. When, thus enveloped,
he appeared on the street, he was everywhere greeted with roars of
laughter. It came to be considered a fine joke among his tall friends
of the 50th to catch hold of this collar, pull it up, and, gazing down
into it as if in search of him, to call out:
“Hello, little one! Come up here a minute, I want to speak to you.”
For answer Billings, making a telescope of his hands, and gazing
vaguely upward, would shout back:
“No, I guess not, thank you. It looks pretty cold up there in the
clouds.”
Within an hour after the arrival of the New York troops, Mountain
Junction underwent a marvellous change. Its streets were quiet
and orderly, its saloons closed, and a cordon of slowly pacing,
gray-uniformed sentinels completely encircled the great area containing
the property of the railroad company. The regiment was quartered in
one of the roomy car-shops, and during the four days that it remained
there not a man below the grade of captain was permitted to stroll
beyond the sentry line except under orders. The telegraph wires were
repaired, and Colonel Pepper announced publicly that on and after that
date passenger-trains, strongly guarded, would be run regularly both
east and west from that point. The strikers were not to be molested, or
interfered with in any way, unless they undertook to obstruct travel
or destroy property, but they would do either of these things at their
peril. He also gave notice that a train would leave Mountain Junction
for New York that afternoon.
In the meantime Myles had been so fully occupied with the stirring
events of the day, that it was not until he and Billings were in the
hotel together that he thought to ask the latter how long he intended
remaining at Mountain Junction, and whether he brought any orders from
the office for him.
“Why, yes,” replied Billings, “that reminds me that I have a note
for you from Mr. Haxall. My orders are to remain here as long as the
regiment does, and to return with it. Here’s your note now.”
Opening it Myles read:
“MR. MANNING:
“Upon receiving this note from Mr. Billings you will return to New
York and report at this office immediately. Mr. Billings will furnish
what money is needed to meet your current expenses.
“Yours etc.,
“J. HAXALL, _City Editor_.”
“That’s too bad,” said Billings, as Myles read this short but very
decided communication aloud. “I thought you and I were to work together
here as we did at New London. Well, it can’t mean anything, except that
Joe has got some better job for you. It must be something important
too. But of course you won’t think of starting before to-morrow?”
“The note says ‘immediately,’” replied Myles.
“Yes, I know; but even then it can’t mean that a fellow who has been
through what you have to-day, and is all knocked up, should set off on
the road again without a chance to pull himself together. Why, you can
get a doctor’s certificate that you are not fit to travel, and won’t be
for several days.”
“A doctor’s certificate might satisfy Mr. Haxall, but it would not
satisfy me,” replied Myles, with a faint smile. “I know that I am
perfectly well able to travel, and that the ride to New York won’t hurt
me any more than staying here.”
Nothing that Billings could say had any effect upon this determination,
and when, a few hours later, a train, guarded by a full company of
the 50th, was made up for New York, Myles was among its passengers.
A number of his new-found soldier friends crowded about him, full of
regret at his departure, and urging him to remain with them at least
for that night. To them Myles only answered that he was under orders as
well as they, and must obey them.
The train was ready to start. The conductor was shouting “All aboard!”
and Billings was bidding his friend good-bye, when Myles suddenly
exclaimed:
“Oh, Billings, I owe the telegraph operator here fifty dollars. He
loaned it to me yesterday, and since then I haven’t had a chance to see
him. Will you find and thank him for me, and tell him I will write, and
return the money as soon as I reach New York?”
“All right!” shouted Billings, as he stepped from the moving train.
“That and all other commissions executed by yours truly, at moderate
charge.”
The captain commanding the escort that accompanied the train
came and sat down beside the young reporter. He was a quiet but
determined-looking fellow, as sun-browned and broad-shouldered
as Myles himself. His intelligent conversation served to banish
the anxious thoughts that on account of his unexpected recall were
beginning to oppress the latter. Myles could not help contrasting his
manner with the boastful swagger of Lieutenant Easter and the neat gray
uniform worn by his present companion with the gorgeous plumage of the
other. He interested the captain, whose name was Ellis, by describing
the capture of the train on which he had ridden the day before, and
the comical plight to which its escort had been reduced. When he told
Captain Ellis that the assistant division superintendent had also been
made a prisoner and carried off by the strikers the other said:
“He must have escaped then, for I heard of him in his uncle’s office
just before we started. The colonel was talking to the superintendent,
and, as I went in for final instructions, I heard the latter say that
his assistant had only just returned from a trip over the western
division and that——”
“The superintendent!” exclaimed Myles. “The division superintendent? Is
he at Mountain Junction?”
“Yes, he came in on a special a few minutes before we left and
reported that no new damage had been done to the track.”
This was startling information to Myles, for it recalled the fact,
which he had utterly forgotten, that he still had the key of the safe.
Supposing the superintendent should even now be asking for it and Ben
should be obliged to confess that it was not in his possession. What
would be the result? Of what might not poor Ben be suspected? He had
not dreamed of such a complication as this. Why had he been such a fool
as to insist upon having that key anyhow? After all, it was none of his
business to try to guard the company’s property in that way. If they
trusted Ben and he was unworthy, that was their own affair. Now what
was to be done?
So occupied was Myles with this train of thought that his companion
asked him a question unheeded; and, thinking it had not been heard
above the noise of the cars, he repeated it.
“I beg your pardon,” said Myles, starting from his reverie, “did you
speak?”
“I only asked if you ever met the division superintendent?”
“No, I never did. But I have got the key to his safe, and was
wondering how I could return it most quickly.”
“That is curious,” said the captain. “Was it intrusted to your keeping
for fear lest the strikers might get hold of it?”
“Yes—that is, not exactly. It was intrusted to my keeping, but not
wholly on account of the strikers,” replied Myles, with some confusion.
“You see, I can’t tell you how it came into my possession without
breaking a promise, but if it is not returned at once I am afraid
trouble will result.”
“Does not the division superintendent know that you have it?” asked the
captain, with an air of surprise.
“No; that’s just it; and I wouldn’t have him know it if it could be
helped.”
The captain was more than ever puzzled by this, but was far too polite
to give utterance to his thoughts.
“You might return it by express,” he suggested.
“So I might,” said Myles, brightening at the thought. “Yes, that’s what
I’ll do. I’ll send it back by express from the first station.”
With this he drew the troublesome key from his pocket, where it
had remained for two days unthought of, and the captain gazed at it
curiously. They hunted up some brown wrapping-paper and did the key up
in a package that was left with the express agent at the next station.
It was directed to the Assistant Superintendent, Western Division, A. &
B. R. R., and the charges on it were paid.
“There is no danger but that it will get there all right?” asked Myles,
anxiously, of the agent.
“Oh, no,” was the reply. “Thanks to these gentlemen,” nodding to the
gray-uniformed soldiers outside, “trains are running pretty regularly
now. Our matter goes through all right, anyhow, whenever there is any
thing to carry it, for the strikers haven’t any fight with the express
company. They only stop freight and passengers.”
So having satisfied himself that he had done the best thing under the
circumstances, Myles returned to the train and dismissed the matter
from his mind.
Captain Ellis, with his command, left the train at the eastern end of
the Central Division, where they were to remain until the following
day, and then return to Mountain Junction. It was quite late at night
when Myles bade these friends good-bye. Soon afterward he arranged
himself as comfortably as possible in the car seat and fell asleep.
When he next awoke his train was nearing New York and a boy was calling
the morning papers close beside him.
Myles bought a _Phonograph_, curious to read the news of the great
strike; for, though he was so well acquainted with what had taken place
at and near Mountain Junction, it was four days since he had seen a
daily paper, and he knew nothing of occurrences in other parts of the
country. What was the heading of the first column on the first page?
Was he reading it rightly? He went over it again slowly. Yes, there was
no mistake. The heading was as plain as type could make it, and it was:
“The Great Railroad Strike. Arrival of the 50th Regiment, N. G. S. N.
Y. at Mountain Junction. Thrilling Details of their Trip. Daring Deed
of a _Phonograph_ Reporter. A Terrible Disaster Averted by his Ready
Wit and Prompt Action. The Regiment Appreciates his Service.”
What could it all mean? Could these flattering words refer to him and
what he had done? Yes, they could and did. As he read down the long
column he found his own name mentioned more than once. There was a
full, though perhaps slightly exaggerated, account of his ride, the
wreck of his hand-car, the stopping of the train in consequence just in
time, and the subsequent scene at Mountain Junction.
How fine it all looked in print! How much more daring and splendid the
whole affair seemed now than it had twenty-four hours before, when he,
stunned and bruised, was being told that he deserved to be hanged!
“Good for you, Billings, old man! Wait till I get a chance to tell the
public what a splendid fellow you are, and what fine fellows all we
reporters are any way. Perhaps we won’t be sneered at now so much as we
have been.”
Thus thinking, and filled with a very pardonable pride, Myles read and
re-read the story. As the train rolled into the station and he stepped
from it he wondered if people would stare at him and point him out to
each other. He wished he could meet some acquaintance who would call
him by name; for, of course, everybody had read the account of his
doings and would recognize _the_ Myles Manning at once. How strange
that people should be going about their every-day business as if it
were the one thing in the world of importance, and great events, worthy
of record in the newspapers, were not happening! How commonplace and
trivial the things that interested them seemed to him now, in the light
of what had so recently taken place!
His first plan was to go directly to the _Phonograph_ office. No, it
was too early. Nobody would be there yet. Then he thought he would go
to his room, get a change of clothing, and make himself presentable.
Would it not be more effective, though, to appear in the office still
bearing signs of his late experience? Myles thought it would. He would
first get breakfast at a restaurant and then decide what to do next.
By the way, supposing they should see the paper at home? Of course
they would, or had by this time. He had subscribed for it and ordered
it sent to them when he first became a reporter. What a state of mind
they would be in! He ought to telegraph them at once. Acting upon
this impulse he stopped at the first telegraph station and sent the
following dispatch to his mother:
“Do not be anxious. Am safe. Will be out to-night.
“MYLES.”
There, that would allay their anxiety, and it was neatly done in just
ten words. He wrote “Will be out to-night” because it was Saturday, and
he meant to spend the following day at home.
Now for breakfast. In the restaurant an intelligent-looking gentleman
sat on the opposite side of his table. He had no morning paper, and
Myles offered him the _Phonograph_, anxious to see what effect that
first-column story would have upon him. The gentleman thanked him
politely, took the paper, glanced carelessly through it, and returned
it without comment.
“Exciting story of the strike, isn’t?” ventured Myles.
“Didn’t notice it,” answered the other. “I’m tired of all these
strikes, and never waste time reading about them. Life’s too short.”
Myles replied: “Yes, that is so.” But he thought: “What a stupid
fellow!”
After all he reached the _Phonograph_ office before any of the other
reporters. Mr. Haxall sat in the great room alone. He glanced up from
his papers as Myles entered and said:
“Ah, Mr. Manning, that you? Step here a moment, please.”
“Now for a real triumph,” thought Myles. “He must say something in
praise for what I have done.”
“You have been absent from this office for five days at Mountain
Junction, I believe,” said Mr. Haxall.
“Yes, sir.”
“And in that time we have received but one dispatch from you?”
“Well, sir, I can explain—” began Myles, eagerly.
“Perhaps this is a sufficient explanation,” interrupted Mr. Haxall,
handing him a telegram.
It was: “Your reporter at Mountain Junction too drunk to send any news
to-night. Better replace him with a sober man.” And the telegram was
dated five days before.
Myles felt as though some one had struck him a blow full in the face.
“But, Mr. Haxall—” he began.
“This office can accept no excuse for such a neglect of duty as that,
Mr. Manning,” said the city editor. “I am very sorry, but I am obliged
to ask you to please hand the key of your desk to Mr. Brown.”