Transcriber's Note
Text emphasis denoted as _Italics_. Whole and fraction part of numbers are
dentoed as 123-4/5.
THE YOUNG TRAIN DISPATCHER
* * * * *
The Works of
Burton E. Stevenson
[Illustration]
_The Boys' Story of the Railroad Series_
The Young Section-Hand $1.75
The Young Train Dispatcher 1.75
The Young Train Master 1.75
The Young Apprentice 1.75
[Illustration]
_Other Works_
The Spell of Holland $3.75
The Quest for the Rose of Sharon 1.65
[Illustration]
THE PAGE COMPANY
53 Beacon Street Boston, Mass.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "HURLED ITSELF ON ACROSS THE WAITING-ROOM AND THROUGH THE
OUTER DOOR TO SAFETY."
(_See page 271_)
]
_The Boys' Story of the Railroad Series_
THE
YOUNG TRAIN
DISPATCHER
_By_ BURTON E. STEVENSON
Author of
"The Young Section-Hand," "The Holladay
Case," etc.
ILLUSTRATED BY
A. P. BUTTON
[Illustration: logo]
_Boston_ [Illustration] THE PAGE
COMPANY [Illustration] _Publishers_
_Copyright, 1907_
By The Page Company
_Entered at Stationers' Hall, London_
_All rights reserved_
Made in U. S. A.
First Impression, June, 1907
Second Impression, October, 1907
Third Impression, April, 1909
Fourth Impression, August, 1910
Fifth Impression, September, 1911
Sixth Impression, May, 1913
Seventh Impression, April, 1915
Eighth Impression, February, 1918
Ninth Impression, March, 1920
Tenth Impression, March, 1923
Eleventh Impression, May, 1926
Twelfth Impression, June, 1931
PRINTED BY C. H. SIMONDS COMPANY BOSTON, MASS., U.S.A. */
TO
E. R. S., W. W. W., G. W. P., and F. M. C.
.. -. .- ..... ..... . ... . .. .- - .. . . -. .. .-.
-.... . .. . .. .- ... ... .. ... - .- -. ... .
.-- -. -.. -.- .. -. -.. ¬¬ .... .. -. - . ... . ... -
[Transcriber Note: ¬¬ = long single dash. Translation at end of book.]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. The New Position 1
II. A Rescue 12
III. A New Friend 22
IV. The Young Operators 33
V. "Flag Number Two!" 43
VI. A Private Line 54
VII. The Call to Duty 67
VIII. An Old Enemy 88
IX. An Unwelcome Guest 98
X. A Professional Friendship 107
XI. The President's Special 116
XII. Placing the Blame 127
XIII. Probing the Mystery 138
XIV. To the Rescue 150
XV. Light in Dark Places 160
XVI. All's Well That Ends Well 171
XVII. Allan Entertains a Visitor 185
XVIII. Facing the Lion 200
XIX. The First Lesson 211
XX. What Delayed Extra West 221
XXI. A Call for Aid 237
XXII. The Treasure Chest 248
XXIII. "Hands Up!" 260
XXIV. Jed Hopkins, Phoenix 270
XXV. How the Plot Was Laid 281
XXVI. The Pursuit 292
XXVII. A Gruesome Find 303
XXVIII. Jed Starts for Home 313
XXIX. The Young Train Dispatcher 326
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
"Hurled itself on across the waiting-room and through
the outer door to safety" (_See page 271_) _Frontispiece_
"'Look out!' he cried, and seizing him by the arm,
dragged him sharply backwards" 21
"Snatched up the fusee, and fairly hurled himself
down the track" 56
"In the next instant, the tall figure had been flung
violently into the room" 153
"The afternoon passed happily" 200
"'It b'longs t' th' mine company,' said Nolan" 291
THE YOUNG TRAIN DISPATCHER
CHAPTER I
THE NEW POSITION
Stretching from the Atlantic seaboard on the east to the Mississippi
River on the west, lies the great P. & O. Railroad, comprising, all told,
some four thousand miles of track. Look at it on the map and you will
see how it twists and turns and sends off numberless little branches;
for a railroad is like a river and always seeks the easiest path--the
path, that is, where the grades are least and the passes in the mountains
lowest.
Once upon a time, a Czar of Russia, asked by his ministers to indicate
the route for a railroad from St. Petersburg to Moscow, placed a ruler on
the map before him and drew a straight line between those cities, a line
which his engineers were forced to follow; but that is the only road in
the world constructed in so wasteful a fashion.
That portion of the P. & O. system which lies within the boundaries of
the Buckeye State is known as the Ohio division, and the headquarters are
at the little town of Wadsworth, which happens, by a fortunate chance of
geographical position, to be almost exactly midway between the ends of
the division. A hundred miles to the east is Parkersburg, where the road
enters the State; a hundred miles to the southwest is Cincinnati, where
it gathers itself for its flight across the prairies of Southern Indiana
and Illinois; and it is from this central point that all trains are
dispatched and all orders for the division issued.
Here, also, are the great division shops, where a thousand men work night
and day to repair the damage caused by ever-recurring accidents and to
make good the constant deterioration of cars and engines through ordinary
wear and tear. It is here that the pay-roll for the division is made out;
hither all complaints and inquiries are sent; and here all reports of
business are prepared.
In a word, this is the brain. The miles and miles of track stretching
east and west and south, branching here and there to tap some near-by
territory, are merely so many tentacles, useful only for conveying food,
in the shape of passengers and freight, to the great, insatiable maw. In
fact, the system resembles nothing so much as a gigantic cuttle-fish.
The resemblance is more than superficial, for, like the cuttle-fish, it
possesses the faculty of "darting rapidly backward" when attacked, and
is prone to eject great quantities of a "black, ink-like fluid,"--which
is, indeed, ink itself--to confuse and baffle its pursuers.
The headquarters offices are on the second floor of a dingy, rectangular
building, the lower floor of which serves as the station for the town.
It is surrounded by broad cement walks, always gritty and black with
cinders, and the atmosphere about it reeks with the fumes of gas and
sulphur from the constantly passing engines. The air is full of soot,
which settles gently and continually upon the passers-by; and there is a
never-ceasing din of engines "popping off," of whistles, bells, and the
rumble and crash of cars as the fussy yard engines shunt them back and
forth over the switches and kick them into this siding and that as the
trains are made up. It is not a locality where any one, fond of quiet and
cleanliness and pure air, would choose to linger, and yet, in all the
town of Wadsworth, there is no busier place.
First of all, there are the passengers for the various trains, who,
having no choice in the matter, hurry in and hurry out, or sit
uncomfortably in the dingy waiting-rooms, growing gradually dingy
themselves, and glancing at each other furtively, as though fearing
to discern or to disclose a smut. Then, strange as it may seem, there
are always a number of hangers-on about the place--idlers for whom the
railroad seems to possess a curious and irresistible fascination, who
spend hour after hour lounging on the platform, watching the trains
arrive and depart--a phenomenon observable not at Wadsworth only, but
throughout this broad land at every city, town, or hamlet through which a
railroad passes.
Across one end of the building is the baggage-room, and at the other is
the depot restaurant, dingy as the rest notwithstanding the valiant and
unceasing efforts made to keep it clean. The sandwiches and pies and
pallid cakes are protected from the contamination of the atmosphere by
glass covers which are polished until they shine again; the counter,
running the whole length of the room, is eroded by much scrubbing as
stones sometimes are, and preserves a semblance of whiteness even amid
these surroundings. Behind it against the wall stand bottles of olives,
pickles, and various relishes and condiments, which have been there for
years and years, and will be there always--for who has time for food of
that sort at a railway restaurant? Indeed, it would seem that they must
have been purchased, in the first place, for ornament rather than for use.
At one end of the counter is a glass case containing a few boxes of
stogies and cheap cigars, and at intervals along its length rise polished
nickel standards bearing fans at the top, which are set in motion by a
mechanism wound up every morning like a clock; but the motion is so slow,
the fans revolve with such calm and passionless deliberation, that they
rather add to the drowsy atmosphere of the place, and the flies alight
upon them and rub the jam from their whiskers and the molasses from their
legs, and then go quietly to sleep without a thought of danger.
How often has this present writer sat before that counter in admiring
contemplation of the presiding genius of the place as he sliced up a
boiled ham for sandwiches. He was a master of the art; those slices were
of more than paper thinness. It was his peculiar glory and distinction to
be able to get more sandwiches out of a ham than any other mere mortal
had ever been able to do, and he was proud of it as was Napoleon of the
campaign of Austerlitz.
The greater part of the custom of the depot restaurant was derived
from "transients;" from passengers, that is, who, unable to afford the
extravagance of the diner, are compelled to bolt their food in the
five minutes during which their train changes engines, and driven by
necessity, must eat here or nowhere. And they usually got a meal of
surprising goodness; so good, in fact, that there were and still are many
men who willingly plough their way daily through smoke and cinders, and
sit on the high, uncomfortable stools before the counter, in order to
enjoy regularly the entertainment which the restaurant offers--a striking
instance of the triumph of mind over environment.
These, then, are the activities which mark the lower floor of the
building; those of the upper floor are much more varied and interesting,
for it is there, as has been said, that the division offices are located.
A constant stream of men pours up and down the long, steep flight of
stairs which leads to them. Conductors and engineers must report there
and register before they take out a train and as soon as they bring
one in; trainmen of all grades climb the stair to see what orders have
been posted on the bulletin-board and to compare their watches with the
big, electrically adjusted clock which keeps the official time for the
division.
Others ascend unwillingly, with downcast countenances, summoned for a
session "on the carpet," when trainmaster or superintendent is probing
some accident, disobedience of orders, or dereliction of duty. Still
others, in search of employment, are constantly seeking the same
officials, standing nervously before them, cap in hand, and relating,
more or less truthfully, the story of their last job and why they left
it;--so that the procession up and down the stair never ceases.
The upper floor is not quite so dingy as the lower. It is newer, for one
thing, its paint and varnish are fresher, and it is kept cleaner. But it
is entirely inadequate to the needs of the business which is done there;
for here are the offices of the division engineer, the division passenger
and freight agents, the timekeeper, the division superintendent, the
trainmaster--and dominating them all, the dispatchers' office, whence
come the orders which govern the movements of every train. Near by is a
lounging-room for trainmen, where they can loiter and swap yarns, while
waiting to be called for duty. It is a popular place, because if one only
talks loud enough one can be overheard in the dispatchers' office across
the hall.
So the men gather there and express their opinions of the dispatchers at
the top of the voice--opinions, which, however they may differ in minor
details, are always the reverse of complimentary. For the dispatchers are
the drivers; they crack the whip over the heads of the trainmen by means
of terse and peremptory telegraphic orders, which there is no answering,
and which no one dares disobey; and the driver, however well-meaning, is
seldom popular with the driven.
Such is the station and division headquarters at Wadsworth: unworthy
alike as the one and the other. The whole effect of the building is of an
indescribable, sordid dinginess; it is a striking example of that type of
railroad economy which forbids the expenditure of money for the comfort
and convenience of its patrons and employees--a type which, happily, is
fast passing away.
* * * * *
On a certain bright spring morning--bright, that is, until one passed
beneath the cloud of smoke which hung perpetually above the yards at
Wadsworth--a boy of about eighteen joined the procession which was
toiling up the stair to the division offices, and, after hesitating an
instant at the foot, as though to nerve himself for an ordeal which
he dreaded, mounted resolutely step after step. As he pushed open
the swinging-door at the top, the clamour of half a dozen telegraph
instruments greeted his ears. He glanced through the open window of the
dispatchers' office as he passed it, pushed his way through a group
of men gathered before the bulletin-board, and, after an instant's
hesitation, turned into an open doorway just beyond.
There were two men in the room, seated on either side of a great desk
which stood between the windows looking down over the yards. They glanced
up at the sound of his step, and one of them sprang to his feet with a
quick exclamation of welcome.
"Why, how are you, Allan!" he cried, holding out his hand. "I'm mighty
glad to see you. So you're ready to report for duty, are you?"
"Yes, sir," answered the boy, smiling into the genial gray eyes, and
returning the warm handclasp, "I'm all right again."
"You're a little pale yet, and a little thin," said the trainmaster,
looking him over critically; "but that won't last long. George," he
added, turning to his companion, "this is Allan West, who saved the
pay-car from that gang of wreckers last Christmas Eve."
"Is it?" and the chief-dispatcher held out his hand and shook the boy's
heartily. "I'm glad to know you. Mr. Schofield has told us the story of
that night until we know it by heart. All the boys will be glad to meet
you."
The boy blushed with pleasure.
"Thank you," he said.
"Allan's to take a job here as office-boy," added Mr. Schofield. "When
will you be ready to go to work?"
"Right away, sir."
"That's good. I was hoping you'd say that, for there's a lot of work
piled up. The other boy was promoted just the other day, and I've been
holding the place open. That will be your desk there in the corner, and
your principal business for the present will be to see that each official
here gets promptly the correspondence addressed to him. That basketful
of letters yonder has to be sorted out and delivered. In this tray on my
desk I put the messages I want delivered at once. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," answered Allan, and immediately took possession of the pack
of envelopes lying in the tray.
He sat down at his desk, with a little glow of pride that it was really
his, and sorted the letters. Three were addressed to the master mechanic,
three to the company's freight agent, two to the yardmaster, and five or
six more to other officials. As soon as he got them sorted, he put on
his hat and started to deliver them.
The trainmaster watched him as he left the office, and then smiled across
at the chief-dispatcher.
"Bright boy that," he commented. "Did you notice--he didn't ask a single
question; just went ahead and did as he was told--and he didn't have to
be told twice, either."
The chief dispatcher nodded.
"Yes," he said; "he'll be a valuable boy to have about."
"He's already proved his value to this road," added Mr. Schofield, and
turned back to his work.
No one familiar with Allan West's history will dispute the justice of
the remark. It was just a year before that the boy had secured a place
on the road as section-hand--a year fraught with adventure, which had
culminated in his saving the pay-car, carrying the men's Christmas money,
from falling into the hands of a gang of desperate wreckers. The lives
of a dozen men would have been sacrificed had the attempt succeeded.
That it did not succeed was due to the ready wit with which the boy had
managed to defeat the plan laid by the wreckers, and to the sheer grit
which had carried him through a situation of appalling danger. He had
barely escaped with his life; he had spent slow weeks recovering from
the all-but-fatal bullet-wound he had received there. It was during this
period of convalescence, spent at the little cottage of Jack Welsh, the
foreman under whom he had worked on section, that the trainmaster had
come to him with the offer of a position in his office--a position not
important in itself, but opening the way to promotion, whenever that
promotion should be deserved. Allan had accepted the offer joyfully--how
joyfully those who have read the story of his adventures in "The Young
Section-Hand" will remember--and at last he was ready to begin his new
duties, where yet other adventures awaited him.