A CALL TO DUTY
Allan sat down by the table and picked up a book on telegraphy which
he had secured from the public library of Wadsworth, and which he
was studying faithfully in such odd hours as he had to
himself,—without much result, be it said, since he had no instrument
to practise on,—while Mrs. Welsh put the excited Mamie to bed,
warning her to go to sleep at once, lest she frighten Santa Claus
away, and then went slowly about the task of clearing up the supper
dishes and putting the house in order for the morrow.
“An’ we’ll hev t’ set up th’ Christmas tree to-night,” she remarked.
“It’ll hev t’ be ready when Mamie wakes up in th’ mornin’, an’
she’ll wake mighty early.”
“All right,” said Allan; “as soon as you’re ready, tell me.”
That morning, on his way in from his trip, he had stopped to cut a
little evergreen in a grove near the track, and this had been safely
deposited in the cellar, out of the reach of Mamie’s curious eyes.
Long strings of snow-white pop-corn had been threaded, streamers of
bright-coloured tissue-paper prepared, little red and blue candles
bought; all of which, together with the presents and parti-coloured
candies, would make the tree in Mamie’s eyes a veritable fairy
picture. It was her first Christmas tree, and it was to be a
splendid one!
“Now I’m ready, Allan,” said Mrs. Welsh, at last; and Allan laid
aside his book and brought up the tree from the cellar, while Mrs.
Welsh unlocked the closet where the ornaments and gifts had been
carefully hidden. “We’ll set it up in that corner by th’ winder,”
she continued; “then th’ people that goes by outside kin see it,
too.”
“I’m glad I’m going to be here when Mamie first sees it,” said
Allan, as he nailed some cross-pieces on the bottom of the tree to
hold it upright. “I’d be out on my trick if it hadn’t been for that
order.”
“Yes, an’ I’m glad, too,” agreed Mrs. Welsh. “That patrol work was
hard on all o’ you. But this trip o’ Jack’s t’-night’ll be th’ last
that any o’ th’ gang on Twenty-one has t’ make. I only wish th’
patrollin’ had ended to-day instead o’ to-morrer, then Jack’d be
here with us now instead of out in that howlin’ storm.”
They listened a moment to the wind whistling about the house, and to
the rain lashing savagely against the windows.
“It is a bad night,” said Allan, “but Jack won’t mind it. He’ll be
thinking of the good time he’s going to have to-morrow.”
“Well, I’m glad it’s th’ last time, anyway,—fer your sake, too,
Allan. Jack an’ me used t’ worrit ourselves nearly sick when you’d
start out alone that way. We never knowed what’d happen.”
“And nothing ever happened, after all!” laughed Allan. “I believe
that Dan Nolan has forgotten all about me long before this.”
Mary shook her head doubtfully.
“I don’t know,” she said. “But anyway it won’t matter now, for
you’ll allers be with th’ gang after this, an’ Nolan won’t dare show
his nose around where they are. Jack’s just achin’ t’ lay hands on
him.”
“There,” said Allan, as he drove the last nail, “that’s solid, I
think,” and he set the tree up in the corner. “Now, what next?”
“All these things has got t’ have little ribbons tied to ’em,” said
Mrs. Welsh, who had been getting out the candy, fruits, and
presents. “But I kin do that. You set down an’ read your book.”
“Indeed I won’t!” protested the boy. “I want to feel that I’ve had
something to do with this tree,” and he drew a chair up to the
table.
“Somethin’ t’ do with it!” retorted Mary. “You’ve had everything t’
do with it, I’m a-thinkin’. It’s your Christmas tree, Allan, an’
mighty nice of you to think of it, my boy.”
“Oh, I wanted Mamie to have one,” he protested; “especially when it
was so little trouble to get. Now it’s ready for the pop-corn.”
Mrs. Welsh began to drape the white festoons about the tree.
Suddenly she paused and looked up with startled eyes.
“What was that?” she asked.
Allan listened with strained attention, but heard only the dashing
of the rain and whistling of the wind.
“It sounded like the trampin’ of men,” she said, after a moment.
“Perhaps it wasn’t anything. Yes! There it is ag’in!”
She sprang to the door and threw it open with frenzied haste. Up the
path she saw dimly four men advancing, staggering under a burden.
Her love told her what the burden was.
“It’s Jack!” she screamed. “It’s Jack! My God! They’ve killed him!”
and, forgetting the storm, she sprang down the path toward them.
“Is he dead?” she demanded. “Tell me quick—is he dead?”
It was Jack’s hearty voice that answered her.
“Not by a good deal, Mary! It’ll take more’n a twisted ankle t’ kill
Jack Welsh!”
She threw her arms about him, sobbing wildly in her great relief,
the men standing by, awkwardly supporting him.
“But there! Here I am keepin’ you out in th’ wet! Bring him in,
men,” and she ran on before, radiant with happiness. This misfortune
was so much less than she had feared, that it seemed almost not to
be a misfortune at all. “It’s only a sprained ankle, Allan,” she
cried to the boy, and ran on past him to get a chair ready.
The men settled the foreman down into the chair cautiously.
“Shall I git th’ doctor?” asked one.
Jack laughed.
“Th’ doctor, indade!” he said. “Mary’ll fix this all right in no
time. It ain’t bad. But I’m much obliged to ye, boys.”
The men took themselves back to work, happier, somehow, for having
witnessed the little scene on the pathway.
But when the boot was cut away from the swollen ankle, it was
evident that its owner would not go about on it again for many days
to come. It was bathed and rubbed with liniment and tightly bandaged
by the wife’s deft fingers, and the pain gradually grew less.
“I slipped on a rail, y’ see,” explained Jack, when the injured
member had been properly cared for.
“My foot went down into a frog, an’ then I had t’ fall over and
wrench it. I’m sorry it give y’ such a turn, Mary; I ought t’ have
sent a man on ahead t’ warn you.”
Mary smiled down on him indulgently.
“’Twas better this way, Jack, dear,” she said. “I’m so happy now t’
have y’ alive here talkin’ t’ me that it hardly seems you’ve met
with an accident at all! See, we was jest gittin’ th’ Christmas tree
ready; now you kin set there, with your foot up on a chair like this
and boss th’ job. It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good; and I’m
glad fer your own sake. Now you won’t have to go out in th’ storm.”
But, at the words, the foreman’s face suddenly changed.
“Good heavens!” he cried. “I fergot! Th’ track has t’ be patrolled.
Somebody has t’ go,” and he raised himself in his chair, but fell
back with a groan. “No use,” he muttered, between his clenched
teeth. “To-night, too, when th’ pay-car’ll most probably come
through! Allan, you’ll have t’ run over t’ th’ train-master, an’ git
him t’ send somebody else.”
“Mr. Schofield went to Cincinnati this morning, I think,” answered
Allan. “I saw him getting on the train as I came in from the road.”
“O’ course!” cried Jack, fiercely. “He’s gone down t’ come back with
th’ pay-car. Well, hunt up th’ chief despatcher, then; somebody’s
got t’ patrol that track.”
Without a word, Allan donned the foreman’s rubber coat and great
hat. Then he picked up the heavy club and the red signal-lantern,
which was standing, still lighted, on the table, where one of the
men had placed it.
“What y’ goin’ t’ do with that?” demanded Jack, eying the boy
uneasily. “Y’ don’t need that to go to th’ depot with.”
“No,” said Allan, smiling, “but you see, I’m not going to the depot.
I’m going to take your trick.”
“No, you ain’t!” cried the other, fiercely.
“Yes, I am. There’s nobody else to be got at this time of night;
besides, you said yourself there’s no danger.”
Jack looked at him a moment doubtfully.
“No, I don’t think there is,” he said at last. “But it’s a bad
night.”
“Pooh!” and Allan whirled his club disdainfully. “Not a drop of
water can get to me in this rig,” he added, echoing Jack’s words.
“Anyway,” said the latter, hesitatingly, “y’ll be back in three
hours, an’ you kin sleep late in the mornin’. I don’t see no other
way,” he added, with a sigh.
“All right,” said Allan; “good-bye,” and went to the door.
But Mrs. Welsh ran after him, threw her arms about his neck and
kissed him.
“You’re a good boy, Allan,” she cried, half-sobbing. “I’ll have a
good hot meal fer you when y’ git back.”
Allan laughed.
“I’ll be ready for it. Be sure to make a good job of that Christmas
tree! Good-bye,” and he opened the door and strode out into the
night.