ONCE MORE ON THE RAILS
The doctor, who had been brought from just across the street from the
station, pronounced it “heart.” Either over-excitement or over-work.
It was no accident; just a death from natural causes.
Then, thought Ralph, how about the big accident policy Byron Marks had
carried and paid on all these years?
But at just this moment there were other matters of importance to
think of. Supervisor Hopkins had at once bustled out to see what had
happened. In five minutes the Midnight Flyer was scheduled to pull out
of the Rockton terminal.
“Here, boy!” he said, grabbing one of the youngsters who called the
crews from their boarding houses. “Let’s see your list. What! Nothing
but freight crews?”
“And there ain’t one of ’em but has put in twelve hours and has got to
take his eight hours’ sleep,” said the boy. “They’d half kill me if I
tried to pry ’em out of the hay.”
“Wait until your advice is called for, boy,” responded Mr. Hopkins
shortly.
The boy winked behind the supervisor’s back and some of the bystanders
chuckled. The supervisor pored over the list.
“Not a passenger engine crew free until two-thirty.”
“And then,” pointed out the night station master, who had likewise
appeared, “that crew must take out Number Fourteen.”
“I want none of _your_ advice, Cummings,” snapped the supervisor.
But Cummings was a gray-haired official and not easily browbeaten.
“You’d better listen to somebody, Mr. Hopkins,” he said doggedly. “I
know the boys on the list quite as well as you do—perhaps better,
considerin’ I’ve seen many of them growin’ up in the road’s employ.
There’s freight engineers, and there’s passenger engineers. Many an
engineer tries pulling the varnished cars and is glad to drop back
into an easy-going freight run. Though there is little on the division
that is really easy-going now.”
“Well, well?” said Hopkins, impatiently.
Cummings raised his eyebrows and glanced from Bob Adair to Ralph.
“There’s not a man on that list as well able to pull Number Two-o-two
as old By was, God rest him! And he couldn’t make the grade, as the
saying is. This Midnight Flyer is a disgrace to the division!”
“What do you mean?” demanded the supervisor angrily.
“Just what I say. It is a disgrace. It doesn’t keep to schedule half
the time. It is the laughing-stock on the system. You know it.
Somebody has got to sit on that bench that can get better time out of
the mill than ever it has made yet.”
“Well, we cannot think of that now. We have to send out the train. The
engineer that can show a card—any engineer—is the one we want, and
must have.”
He wheeled as though to hurry away on his quest. Cummings tapped him
with a finger on the shoulder.
“Wait, Mr. Hopkins,” he said.
“What is it?” snapped the supervisor.
“You’re going right away from about the only fellow that can help you
out,” Cummings said with some complacency. “Don’t you see this boy
here?” and he clapped a jovial hand upon Ralph’s shoulder.
“Oh, I say!” exclaimed the young train dispatcher. “None of that, Mr.
Cummings. I am not looking for any more trouble.”
But the old station master waved an airy hand. He held Barton Hopkins’
attention.
“I know that Ralph is in good standing with the Brotherhood. He is the
best little engineman there is on the division. If there is a man
to-night can take this train through to Hammerfest anywhere near on
time, it is him. The road is like a book to him——
“Ah! what’s the matter with you, boy?” he added, turning to face the
young fellow. “What are you—a man, or a monkey, I want to know? What
does it matter what people say or think? You are working for the Great
Northern and you’ve got the good of the road at heart. Isn’t that so?”
“You know it!” exclaimed Ralph, half angrily.
“All right. Here is the supervisor. He wants the best man he can get
for the job because _he_ is all for the road’s interest——”
“I do not know that Fairbanks is fit for any such task,” put in Mr.
Hopkins, in his very coldest tone. “I doubt if one so young is fit for
any important and responsible position. At least, I am very sure that
his exhibition of engine driving in the yard here the other evening
does not bear out the ability you claim for him, Cummings.”
“What’s that?” demanded the station master, angrily.
“I have felt it my duty to send in, attached to the report of that
wreck in the yard the other evening, the fact that all rules of the
road were violated by Mr. Fairbanks in trying to handle the switch
engine; and, as well, that in my opinion the wreck would not have
occurred had it not been for Fairbanks’ oversight. He shunted those
heavily loaded gondolas too far into the switch——”
“Nothing of the kind!” exclaimed Ralph, interrupting, in anything but
a respectful tone. “The train crews and yard crews are honeycombed
with treachery, and you daren’t accuse me of such a thing. I won’t
stand for _that_, Mr. Hopkins, and don’t you think it!”
“Hold on! Hold on!” admonished Mr. Adair in his ear.
“Now, this is too much!” cried the young train dispatcher. “I would
not help him out now at any price. Why, unless the G. M. himself told
me to take the throttle on that old mill, I wouldn’t touch it!”
He swung on his heel, panting in his anger, and ran right against a
bulky figure in an ulster, his hat brim drawn down over his eyes.
Ralph recoiled with a surprised grunt. The man grabbed him.
“Hold on!” he said. “I heard you. That train has got to pull out in
two minutes. I order you, Fairbanks, to get up into the cab and make
that engine behave. You’ve made the schedule. Let’s see if you can
make the Midnight Flyer conform to it. How’s that?”
Mr. Adair broke into a hearty laugh. But neither the station master
nor Ralph, and surely not the supervisor of the division, had
previously any idea of the general manager’s presence at the terminal.
He had stood back and listened to all that had been said since the
unfortunate old engineer had been carried out of the station.
“You take this matter entirely out of my hands, sir?” Hopkins asked,
his voice shaking.
“I do,” rejoined the general manager.
“I think you overlook the fact that you are interfering in my
province.”
“No, I don’t overlook it. But you come back to the office with me,
Hopkins, and I believe I can show you where it is for the road’s
interest to send Ralph out with this train. There’s the gong!”
“Send word to my mother!” cried Ralph to Adair, and made a flying leap
for the locomotive steps. The two firemen, who had listened in no
little interest and anxiety to the foregoing conversation, sprang to
their proper positions. They grinned for they both knew Ralph and
liked him.
It was a fact that there was not a locomotive on the division that the
train dispatcher had not tried out at one time or another. As he had
confessed he was, after all, an engineer by instinct. He slid into the
seat so recently occupied by the dead engineer, and his hand closed on
the throttle.
The exhaust coughed through the smokestack. The bell jangled. He let
the steam into the cylinders. The drivers groaned and rolled almost on
the instant of the conductor shouting his second “All aboard!”
As smooth as silk, the train rolled out of the station. Adair and
Cummings waved their hands to the young fellow on whom an important
duty had again devolved. He opened the throttle up wider. The wheels
began to drum over the rail joints in a tune that thrilled his blood.
“Once again on the rails!” he breathed. “This is the life!”