AN OLD ENEMY
Every night must end, although that one, as it seemed to Allan, was at
least forty hours long. His greatest difficulty was to keep awake, for he
had been working all day before he came on duty. More than once he caught
himself nodding, until, at last, he dared not sit still in his chair,
but went out upon the stretch of cindered path before the shanty and
tramped up and down it, pausing now and then at the door to make sure his
instrument was not calling him. The cool air of the night blew sleepiness
from his eyes, at last, and he stood for a long time gazing out over the
silent fields. Away in the distance a cock crew; others answered it,
hailing the dawn; for the eastern sky began to show a tinge of gray. From
every tree and coppice came sleepy twitterings, which, as the east grew
brighter, burst into songs of joy to greet the rising sun.
Birds never make the mistake that some boys and girls do, of rising
with sour faces--"wrong end first." They know how much it adds to
the day's happiness to start the day right; they are always glad when
morning comes, and they never forget to utter a little song of praise
and gratitude for another sunrise. Then they fly to the brook and take
their bath, and hunt cheerfully for breakfast. Nor do they lose their
tempers if they can't find some particular worm or bug of which they are
especially fond. Truly, bird-ways are worth imitating.
Allan sat down in the door of the shanty to watch the daily miracle
which was enacting before him, but which most people have come to regard
as a matter of course. It was the first sunrise he had seen for many
months--in fact, since the days, seemingly years ago, when he had risen
every night to take his trick at guarding the track from train-wreckers.
Now, as he sat here, watching the brightening east, all the adventures
of that time came vividly back to him, and he smiled to himself as he
reviewed them one by one. He had made many firm friends--and one enemy,
Dan Nolan, the vicious and vindictive scoundrel who had tried in so many
ways to injure him; and had finally joined the gang of desperate tramps
who had given the road so much trouble, and who, caught in the very act
of trying to wreck the pay-car, had been sentenced to a term in the
penitentiary.
Allan had incurred Nolan's enmity the very first day of his service with
the road. Nolan had been a member of Jack Welsh's section-gang, and had
been discharged for drunkenness. He knew, however, that the place on the
gang would be hard to fill, and expected to be taken back again. But that
very day, Allan, who had walked all the way from Cincinnati in search
of employment, came along, and Welsh, impressed by the boy's frank and
honest face, had given him the place. Nolan had blustered, threatened,
and even tried to kill him; and had ended by being sent to the State
prison.
Allan's face darkened as he recalled Nolan's many acts of enmity, and the
thought came to him that he had not yet heard the last of the scoundrel.
But this gloomy mood did not endure long, for suddenly a radiant yellow
disk peeped over the hills to the east, and flooded the world with golden
splendour. The birds' songs of praise burst forth afresh, and every tree,
every plant, every flower and blade of grass, seemed to lift its head and
bow toward the east to greet the luminary upon which all life upon the
earth depends. Its warm rays drank the dew from the meadows, and over the
brook, which ran beside the road, a filmy mist steamed upward from the
water. Away off, across the fields, Allan could see a man ploughing, and
a herd of cows wandered slowly over a near-by pasture, cropping the fresh
grass and blowing clouds of warm and fragrant breath out upon the cool
air. Allan resolved that so long as he held this trick, every dawn should
find him at the door watching for the sunrise, the wonder and mystery
and beauty of which he was just beginning to understand.
A call from his instrument summoned him back into the office. There were
a number of orders to take for trains from east and west, which were to
meet and pass at Byers, and by the time these had been duly received,
repeated, and O. K.'d, six o'clock had come and gone. Six o'clock was
the hour of relief, but Nevins did not appear. After that, every minute
seemed an hour, and Allan began to understand Nevins's feelings the night
before, when his own relief did not arrive. He began to fear that he
would miss the morning accommodation train to Wadsworth. If he did, he
could not get home before noon, and he was desperately tired and sleepy.
He went to the door and looked out, but saw no sign of Nevins, and was
just turning back into the office, when a low, sneering laugh almost at
his elbow caused him to start around. It was Nevins, who stood there
grinning maliciously. He had evidently come around the corner of the
house, while Allan was looking out across the fields.
"Well," he sneered, "how d' ye like it?"
"I don't like it at all," said Allan.
"After this," added Nevins, pushing past him, "you be on time and I will.
That's all I want of _you_."
"We'll have to rearrange our tricks," said Allan, his cheek flushing at
the other's tone. "I can't get here until the evening accommodation at
six-thirty; so suppose you come on half an hour later in the morning.
That will even things up."
Nevins growled a surly assent, and turning his back ostentatiously, he
hung up his coat and flung himself into the chair.
"There are three orders," added Allan. "One of them--"
"Oh, shut up!" snarled Nevins. "I can read, can't I?"
"Yes; no doubt you can. But the rules require that I explain outstanding
orders to you before I go off duty."
Nevins looked up at him, an ugly light in his eyes.
"So you're that kind, are you?" he queried. "Little Sunday-school boy.
Ain't you afraid your mamma's worryin' about you?"
"Don't you want me to--"
"I don't want you to do nothin' but get out!" Nevins broke in, and took
the orders from the hook and looked over them. "As I said before, I can
read. I suppose you can, too. So don't bother me."
An angry retort rose to Allan's lips, but he choked it back; and at that
instant a whistle sounded down the line, and the roar of an approaching
train. He had just time to grab coat and lunch-basket and swing aboard,
and in a moment was off toward Wadsworth.
He sank into a seat, his heart still hot at Nevins's insolence; and yet,
on second thought, he was glad that he had not yielded to the impulse
to return an angry answer. It was natural that Nevins should have been
provoked, though the delay of the night before was not Allan's fault
in the slightest degree; and, in any event, there was no use making an
enemy of a fellow who might be able to do a great deal of mischief. But
one thing Allan resolved on, his lips set: he would explain outstanding
orders to Nevins, whether the latter chose to listen or not.
Mary Welsh was waiting for him at the door.
"You poor boy," she said. "You're half-dead fer sleep!"
"Only a quarter dead," Allan corrected, "and I'll soon be good as new.
What's that I smell?" he added, wrinkling his nose, as he stepped inside
the door. "Hot biscuits?"
"You go git washed," retorted Mary, with affected sternness, "an' you'll
see what it is when ye git t' table. Hurry up, now!"
"All right," laughed the boy. "I know you, Mary Welsh."
And when he sat down, he found that his nose had told him correctly. The
biscuits were flaky and white and piping hot, with golden butter melting
over them; and there were three slices of bacon cut very thin and browned
to a turn; and potato-cakes--not those soggy, squashy potato-cakes which
are, alas! too familiar--but crisp and brown, touching the palate in just
the right way. Ah, Mary, you have achieved something in this world that
many of your more "cultured" sisters may well envy you! How few of them
could create potato-cakes like yours!
It was after eight o'clock when Allan finally climbed the stair to his
little room under the roof, and went to bed. Mary had darkened the
windows, so that the light should not disturb him, and he dropped off to
sleep almost at once. I know the physiologists tell us that sound sleep
is impossible after a hearty meal, but, candidly, I don't believe it.
Healthy animals, at least, have no difficulty in sleeping after eating;
in fact, a nap almost always follows a meal. Watch your cat or dog after
you have fed them. The cat will make a hasty toilet and curl up for a
snooze; the dog will drop down behind the stove or in a sunny corner
out-of-doors without even that formality. It is only when the stomach
has been ruined by long years of overfeeding that one must use all the
precautions which physical culturists and health-food advocates and
cranks of that ilk advise--must eschew biscuits for bread two days old,
and half-starve oneself in order to live at all. But the healthy boy may
eat whatever he pleases, in moderation, and be none the worse for it.
So all the day Allan slept, never once so much as turning over, hearing
nothing of the comings and goings in the house. Indeed, Mary Welsh took
care that there should be little noise to disturb him. Mamie, when she
came home from school at noon, was promptly warned to keep quiet, and
ate her dinner as silently as a mouse. Not until the sun was sinking
low in the west and a glance at the clock assured her that he must be
awakened, did she climb the stair which led to his little room and tap
gently at his door.
"Allan!" she called. "Allan!"
"Yes?" he answered sleepily, after a moment.
"You must be gittin' up, if you're goin' t' ketch your train," she said.
"All right; I'll be down in a minute," and he sprang out of bed and into
his clothes in a jiffy.
Mary had his supper smoking hot on the table, and Mamie, who had just
come home from school, sat down with him to keep him company.
"I don't like your new position very well, Allan," she said, as she
poured out his coffee for him.
"Why not?" he asked, smiling down into the serious little freckled face.
"Why, you're going to be away from home every evening," she explained.
"Who's going to help me get my lessons, I'd like to know?"
Allan laughed outright.
"So that's it? Well, we'll have to make some arrangement about it. Maybe
in the morning, as soon as I get in--"
"You'll do no such thing," broke in Mrs. Welsh, sharply. "When you git
home in th' mornin' you're goin' straight t' bed, jest as soon as you
git your breakfast. Mamie kin git her own lessons. It'll do her good.
You're fair spoilin' th' child."
"I'll tell you," said Allan, "I'll get up half an hour earlier in the
afternoon. There's no sense in my sleeping so long, anyway. It'll make
me stupid. You hurry straight home from school, and we'll have plenty of
time."
Mamie clapped her hands. Then she sprang from her chair, flew around the
table, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
"Allan, you're a dear!" she cried. "A perfect dear!"
It was at this moment that the door opened and Jack Welsh came in,
grinning broadly as he saw the tableau at the table.
"Mary," he said, "it seems to me that Mamie's gittin' t' be a very
forrerd sort o' body. It's scandalous th' way she runs arter th' boys."
"Only arter one boy, Jack," corrected his wife, "an' I don't care how
much she runs arter him. But how did ye happen t' git home so early?"
"I was hungerin' fer a sight o' your black eyes, me darlint," answered
Jack, winking at Allan, and he passed his arm about his wife's trim waist
and gave her a tremendous hug.
"Go way, ye blarney!" she cried, beating him off. "Do ye wonder your
child's forrerd when her father sets her sich an example? An' I s'pose
you'll be wantin' your supper now. Well, it ain't ready!"
"No," said Jack, releasing her, "I've got t' go back t' th' yards first
t' see th' roadmaster. I'll be back in about half an hour. Come along,
Allan, if you're goin'."
Allan put on coat and hat, picked up the luncheon-basket, which Mary
had already packed for him, kissed Mamie again, and followed Jack down
the steep path which led to the street. He turned at the gate to wave
good-bye to Mary and Mamie, who stood watching them from the door above,
then followed Jack across the maze of tracks toward the station.
"Th' fact o' th' matter is, Allan," said Jack, in a low voice, as the boy
caught up with him, "I come home early on purpose t' see you."
"To see me?" Allan repeated, and when he glanced at Jack, he saw that his
face was very grave.
"Yes, t' see you," said Jack again, and hesitated, as though reluctant to
impart the news which he knew would be unwelcome.
"What is it?" asked Allan, and a little shiver ran through him, for he
knew that Jack would not speak so without good reason.
The elder man hesitated yet a moment.
"Dan Nolan's loose," he said, at last, his voice hoarse with emotion.