One afternoon two weeks later Alex returned from school to find his
father and mother hurriedly packing his suit-case.
"Why, what's up, Dad?" he exclaimed.
"You are off for Watson Siding in twenty minutes, to take charge of the
station there nights," said his father. "The regular man is ill, the
despatcher had no one else to send, and asked for you, and of course I
told him you'd be delighted."
"Delighted? Well, rather!" cried Alex, gleefully, and throwing his
school-books into a corner, he dashed up-stairs to change his clothes,
hastily ate a lunch his mother had prepared, and fifteen minutes later
was hurrying for the depot.
Needless to say Alex was a proud boy when shortly after seven o'clock he
reached Watson Siding, and at once took over the station for the night.
For it is not often a lad of fourteen is given such responsibility, even
though brought up on the railroad.
Alex was soon to learn that the responsibility was a very real one. The
first night passed pleasantly enough, but early the succeeding night,
following a day of rain, a heavy spring fog set in, and shortly before
ten o'clock Alex found, to his alarm, that he could not make himself
heard on the wire by the despatcher. Evidently there was a heavy escape
of current between them, because of the dampness.
Again the despatcher called, again Alex sought to interrupt him, failed,
and gave it up. "Now I am in for trouble," he said in dismay. "If
anything should--"
From apparently just without came a low, ominous rumble, then a crash.
Alex started to his feet and ran to the window. He could see nothing but
fog, and hastily securing a lantern, went out onto the station platform.
As he closed the door there was a second terrific crash, from the
darkness immediately opposite, and a rain of stones rattling against
iron.
"The bank above the siding!" cried Alex, and springing to the tracks, he
dashed across, and with an exclamation brought up before a mound of earth
six feet high over the siding rails.
As he gazed Alex felt his heart tighten. The westbound Sunset Express was
due to take the siding in less than half an hour, to await the Eastern
Mail, and at once he saw that if the engineer misjudged the distance in
the fog, and ran onto the siding at full speed, there would be a terrible
calamity.
And suppose the cars were thrown onto the main line track, and the Mail
crashed into them! And, apparently, he could not reach the despatcher, to
give warning of her danger!
What could he do to stop them? Helplessly Alex looked at the lantern in
his hand. Its light was smothered by the fog within ten feet of him.
Running back to the operating room he seized the key and once more sought
to attract the attention of the despatcher. It was useless. The
despatcher did not hear him. He sank back in his chair, sick with dread.
But he must attempt something! Determinedly he sprang to his feet. A
lantern was useless. Then why not a fire? A big fire on the track?
Hurrah! That was it! But--he gazed at the coal box, and thought of the
rain soaked wood outside, and his heart sank. Then came remembrance of
the big woodshed at the farm-house where he boarded, three hundred yards
away, and in a moment he had recovered the lantern, and was out, and off
through the darkness, running desperately.
On arriving at the house Alex found all in silence, and the family
retired, but without a moment's hesitation he threw himself at the front
door, pounding upon it with his fists.
It seemed an age before a window was raised. "Mr. Moore," he cried,
"there has been a landslide in the cut at the station, and there is
danger of the Sunset running into it. May I have wood from the shed to
make a fire on the track to stop her?"
"Gracious! Certainly, certainly!" exclaimed the voice from the window.
"And the boys and I will be down in a minute to help you. You run around
and be pulling out some kindling."
[Illustration: THREW HIMSELF AT THE FRONT DOOR, POUNDING UPON IT
WITH HIS FISTS.]
Alex darted about to the woodshed, there the farmer and his two sons soon
joined him, and each catching up an armful of wood, they were quickly off
for the railroad, Alex leading with the lantern.
Reaching the tracks, they hurried east, and a quarter mile distant
halted, and began hastily building a huge bonfire between the rails.
"There," said Alex, as the flames leaped up, "that ought to stop her."
"And now, Mr. Moore, suppose we leave Dick here to tend the fire, and you
and Billy and I hurry back to the station, and tackle the earth on the
track. We may get enough off to let the train plow through."
"All right, certainly," agreed the farmer; and retracing their steps, the
three secured shovels and more lanterns at the depot, and soon were hard
at work on the obstructed siding.
They had been digging some ten minutes when suddenly Billy paused.
"Listen," he said. "There's a horse coming, on the run." His father and
Alex also ceased shoveling, and a moment later the quick pounding of
horse's hoofs was plainly discernible.
"It must be something urgent to make a man drive like that in the dark,"
said Mr. Moore.
The racing hoofs drew nearer, and placing his hands to his mouth he
cried: "Hello! What's up?"
There was a sound of scrambling and plunging, and out of the darkness
came a man's excited voice: "How near am I to the station?"
"Right here below you!"
"Thank God! Run quick and tell the operator there has been a landslip in
the big cutting just beyond the river! My son discovered it when coming
home by the track from a party! I thought I could get here quicker than
do anything else!"
For a moment Alex stood speechless at this further calamity, then once
more dashed for the station. To reach Zeisler, two miles west of the cut,
was the only hope for the Mail.
Rushing in to the instruments, he in feverish haste began calling "Z. Z,
Z," he whirled. "Qk! Z, Z, WS!"
There was no answer. Z heard him no more than did the despatcher.
A feeling of despair settled upon the boy. But again returned the old
spirit of determination and contriving, and spinning about in his chair,
he cast his eyes around the room for some suggestion. They halted at the
big stoneware water-cooler. With a cry he was on his feet, thinking
rapidly.
Only a few hours before, during an idle moment, the similarity of the big
jar to a gravity cell had occurred to him, and the speculation as to
whether it could not be turned into a battery if need be.
Could he really make a battery of it? If he could, undoubtedly it would
be strong enough to so increase the current in the wire that both Zeisler
and the despatcher could hear him.
He ran to a little storage closet at the rear of the room. Yes; there was
enough bluestone! But no copper, or zinc! What could he do for that?
As though directed by Providence, his gaze fell on the floor-board of the
office stove. It was covered with a sheet of zinc! And even as he uttered
a glad "Good!" there came the remembrance that at the house that
afternoon he had seen a fine new wash-boiler--with a thick copper bottom.
"That's it," cried Alex, again catching up the lantern and darting for
the door.
A short distance from the depot Alex was halted by a long, muffled
whistle from the east. "The Express," he exclaimed, and in keen anxiety
awaited the next whistle. Would it be for the crossing this side of the
bonfire, or--
It came, a series of quick, sharp toots. Yes; they had seen the fire!
"Thank Heaven! She's safe at any rate," said Alex, at once running on.
A few minutes later he burst into Mrs. Moore's kitchen. The farmer's wife
was at the stove, preparing coffee for them.
"Mrs. Moore, where is your new copper-bottomed boiler? I must have it,
quick," said Alex.
"What! My new wash-boiler?"
"Yes; the copper-bottomed one. It's a matter of life and death!"
The astonished woman hesitated, then, wonderingly, pointed toward the
outer kitchen. Alex ran thither, and quickly reappeared with the fine new
boiler on his shoulder.
"And I must have that kettle of boiling water," he added, on a thought.
"I'll explain later." And catching it from the stove, he rushed away.
As he ran Alex further thought out his plans, and once more at the
station, he placed the kettle on the office stove, emptied the bluestone
into it, and poked up the fire.
Then, with a hammer and chisel, he attacked the copper bottom of the
boiler.
He was still pounding and cutting when presently there was the sound of
hurried footsteps without, the door flew open, and a voice exclaimed: "In
Heaven's name, young man, what are you doing? Why are you not at your
wire, trying to stop the other train?"
It was none other than the division superintendent of the road, who had
been aboard the Sunset.
Only pausing a moment in his work, Alex replied: "I can't reach anybody,
sir, the wire is so weak. I am making a battery of that water-cooler, to
strengthen it. It's the only hope, sir."
The superintendent uttered a horrified exclamation, then quickly added:
"Here, can't I help you?"
"Yes, sir," replied Alex, promptly. "Lift up the stove and slide out the
floor-board. I must have the sheet of zinc off it."
And a few minutes later a group of passengers from the stalled train,
seeking the cause of delay, paused in the doorway to gaze in blank
astonishment at the spectacle of the division superintendent of the
Middle Western, his coat off, energetically working under the direction
of his youngest operator.
[Illustration: IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FLOOR, THE CENTER OF ALL EYES,
HURRIEDLY WORKING WITH CHISEL AND HAMMER.]
"There you are, my lad," said the superintendent. "What next?"
"Get a stick, sir, and stir the bluestone in the kettle. We must have it
dissolved if the battery is to work the moment we connect it to the
wire."
The copper bottom of the boiler was at last cut through, and hastily
doubling it over several times, in order that it would lie flat in the
crock, Alex turned his attention to the zinc on the stove-board.
The scene in the little station had now become dramatic--the crowd of
passengers, increased until it half filled the room, looking on in
strained silence, or talking in whispers; the tall figure of the
superintendent at the stove, busily stirring the kettle, and in the
middle of the floor, the center of all eyes, the fourteen-year-old boy
hurriedly working with chisel and hammer, seemingly only conscious of the
task before him and the necessity of making the most of every minute.
The zinc was cut, and hurriedly folding it as he had the copper, Alex
sprang to his feet, and running to the cupboard, dragged out a bundle of
wire, and began sorting out a number of short ends.
"How much longer?" said the superintendent in a tense voice. "The train
should be at Zeisler now."
"Just a minute. But she's sure to be a little late, from the fog," said
Alex, hopefully, never pausing. "Has the bluestone dissolved, sir?"
"All but a few lumps."
"Then that'll do. Now please lift down the water-cooler, sir, and place
it by the table."
As the superintendent complied all conversation ceased, and the crowd,
moving hurriedly out of the way, looked on breathlessly, then turned to
Alex, on his knees, fastening two pieces of wire to the squares of copper
and zinc.
This done, Alex dropped the square of copper to the bottom of the big
jar, hung the zinc from the top, connected one wire end to the ground
connection at the switchboard, and the other to the side of the key. And
the task was complete.
"Now the kettle, sir," he said, dropping into his chair. The
superintendent seized the kettle, and emptied its blue-green liquid into
the cooler. The moment the water had covered the zinc Alex opened his
key.
It worked strongly and sharply.
"Thank God! Thank God!" said the superintendent, fervently. "Now, hurry,
boy!"
Already Alex was whirring off a string of letters. "Z, Z, Z, WS!" he
called. "Qk! Qk! Z, Z--"
The line opened, and at the quick sharp dots that came Alex could not
restrain a cry of triumph. "It works! I've got him," he exclaimed. Then
rapidly he sent:
"Has Number 12 passed?"
The line again opened, and over the boy leaned a circle of white, anxious
faces. Had the train passed? Had it gone on to destruction? Or--
The instruments clicked. "No! No! He says, no!" cried Alex.
And then, while the crowd about him relieved its pent-up feelings in wild
shouts and hurrahs, Alex quickly sent the order to stop the train.
"And now three good cheers for the little operator," said one of the
passengers as Alex closed his key. In confusion Alex drew back in his
chair, then suddenly recollecting the others who had taken part in the
night's work, he told the superintendent of the part played by Mr. Moore
and his sons, and of the sacrifice of Mrs. Moore's new wash-boiler.
"And then there was the man on the horse, who told us of the slide in the
cut across the river. He was the real one to save the Mail," said Alex,
modestly.
"I see you are as fair as you are ingenious," said the superintendent,
smiling. "We'll look after them all, you may be sure. By the first
express Mrs. Moore shall have two, instead of one, of the finest boilers
money can buy. And as for you, my boy, I'll see that you are given a
permanent station within a year, if you wish to take it. We need
resourceful operators like you."