Matters dropped into a pleasant routine for Ralph, the two weeks
succeeding his rather stormy introduction into active railroad life at
the roundhouse of the Great Northern at Stanley Junction.
It was like a lull after the tempest. The youthful hoodlum gang that
had been a menace to Ralph and the railroad company had been entirely
broken up.
Tim Forgan was a changed man. He and the senior Slump had drifted
apart, and the foreman's previous irascibility and suspicious gloom had
departed. He was more brisk, natural and cheery, and Ralph believed and
fervently hoped had given up the tippling habit which had at times made
him a capricious slave to men and moods.
The lame helper had become a useful, pleasant chum to Ralph. There was
not a day that he did not teach the novice some new and practical point
in railroad experience.
Gasper Farrington Ralph had not met again.
At the cottage Van led an even, happy existence, making no trouble,
being extremely useful and industrious, and daily more and more
endearing himself to both Ralph and Mrs. Fairbanks.
With the dog house crowd Ralph had become a general favorite. He had
won the regard of those rough and ready fellows, and his loyal adhesion
to Griscom in the fire at the shops, his rescue of little Nora Forgan,
and his manly, accommodating ways generally, had enforced their respect,
and more than one dropped his oaths and coarseness when Ralph
approached, and they tipped over the liquor bottle of one of the
"extras" who had the temerity to ask Ralph to test its contents.
Altogether, Ralph was going through a happy experience, and every day
life and railroading seemed to develop some new charm of novelty and
progress.
It was with a proud spirit that he took home his first month's salary,
twenty-seven dollars and some odd cents.
Those odd cents, with some added, Ralph stopped near the depot to hand
over to little Teddy.
The county farm orphan had been turned loose from custody after a week's
imprisonment, with orders to report to the police at nine o'clock every
Monday morning.
He was practically on parole, the authorities hoping that on the trial
of Cohen he might give some evidence that would implicate the
stolen-goods receiver, and Ralph had run across the little fellow
drifting aimlessly about the town.
Ralph had a long talk with him, then he decided to "stake" him as a
newsboy. The depot watchman agreed to let him sell papers at the train
exit, and Teddy had done fairly well, earning enough to pay for his
lodging, Ralph making up the deficiency as to meals.
It was a bright hour in Mrs. Fairbanks' life when, after putting
together what money she had with Ralph's earnings, and deducting the
interest due Gasper Farrington, they were able to count a surplus of
nearly twelve dollars.
Mrs. Fairbanks took the interest money to a bank where she had been
notified the note was deposited, paid the amount, received the note, and
with a lightened heart contemplated the future.
Two mornings later, when Ralph entered the roundhouse, he was accosted
by Limpy in a keen, quick way.
"Primping day, Fairbanks," said the lame helper. "You want to hustle."
"What are you getting at?" inquired Ralph.
"Inspection."
"That's new to me."
"So I'll explain. The inspector is on his tour, we got the tip to-day.
Came up on the daylight mail."
"What does he inspect?"
"Everything from a loose drop of oil to a boiler dent. He is so beloved
that the dog house crowd kick loose all the litter cans soon as he's
gone, and so particular that he inspects the locomotives with a
magnifying glass."
"Who is he?" inquired Ralph curiously.
"Bardon is his name--it ought to be Badone! He's a relative of and
trains with the division superintendent. He acted as a spy at the
switchmen's strike, got nearly killed for his sneaking tactics, and the
company rewarded him by giving him a gentlemanly position."
Ralph readily saw that this Mr. Bardon was not a favorite with the rank
and file of the railroad crowd.
"Well, we'll have to show him what a lot of active elbow grease will do
towards making this a model roundhouse," said Ralph cheerfully.
Limpy was not at all in harmony with this idea, and showed it plainly by
action and words. He and the others considered the roundhouse and its
privileges essentially their personal property, and resented advice or
censure, especially from a man whom they intensely disliked.
During the afternoon various little things were done about the dog house
that indicated the spirit of the crowd there. A pasteboard box nailed
to the wall bore written directions to engineers and firemen to keep
their kid gloves there. Another stated that brakemen must not wear
turned collars. Various receptacles were labeled "For cinders," "Clean
your nails here," and the general layout was a palpable satire on the
strained relations with an expected visitor who was considered a
martinet.
Ralph went carefully and conscientiously to work to brighten up things a
bit and make them look their best, while Limpy growled and grumbled at
him all the afternoon.
About four o'clock the lame helper was enjoying a brief respite from
work at his usual lounging place, standing on a bench and looking out of
a window. He called Ralph so suddenly and sharply that the latter
hurried towards him.
"Quick!" uttered Limpy, face and hands working spasmodically, as they
always did when he was excited.
"What's up?" inquired Ralph, leaping to the bench beside him.
"Look there!" directed the helper.
He pointed to a long freight train backing down the tracks. It had just
passed a switch.
"Pivot loose, and the signal flanges exactly reversed!" pronounced Limpy
quickly. "They think they are on track A. Say, it's sure to be a
smash!"
In a twinkling Ralph's eye took in the situation. The train was on a
curve, and had run back all right in response to switch A, set open,
according to the white indicator on top. But red should have shown, it
appeared. The pivot holding the signal in unison with the operating bar
must have become loosened, and the wind had blown the signal plate awry.
The freight, therefore, had struck track B, which a hundred feet further
on split off onto two sets of rails. Both had short ends, terminating
at bumpers, and each held a single car.
Track C held a gaudy, expensive car belonging to some traveling show,
all gold and glitter, and must have cost eighteen thousand dollars.
Track D held an old disabled box car. And into one or the other of
these the backing freight was destined to run unless checked inside of
the next half minute.
"Give me a show!" spoke Ralph, in a hurry.
He brushed Limpy aside, leaped through the window, struck the ground
eight feet below the high sill, and made a run towards the backing
freight.
The curve prevented his seeing the engine or any one to whom he might
signal. He doubled his pace, reached the split switch, unlocked the
bar, half-lifted it, and stood undecided.
It was not his province to interfere, he well knew, if half the cars on
the road were reduced to kindling wood through the mistake or
carelessness of some one else, but action was irresistible with his
impetuous nature when the same meant timely service.
If he left the switch as it now was, the freight would back down into
the show car with terrific destructive force.
It seemed a pity to spoil that new pretty model of the car builder's
art. Ralph discerned that the box car was ready for the scrap heap, and
decided.
He pulled the switch over, not a moment too soon, jumped back, and the
next minute the freight train struck the solitary box car, and it
collapsed like a folding accordion.