Its streets, shaded by the elms planted by the pioneers, show traces of those early days; one of the old inns, with its swinging sign still stands; no roar of traffic disturbs its Sabbath stillness. Just to the east of it rises Mount Logan, named for the Indian chieftain known to every train-service, and there is a legend that, standing3 on the summit of that hill, the day before his death, he cast a spell over the surrounding country, in order that the peace of his grave might never be disturbed. However that may be, certain it is that a dreamy influence pervades4 the atmosphere and gives to the town an air of leisure and calm deliberateness which nothing can dispel5.
It had been founded more than a century before, when the country for a hundred miles around was an unbroken forest, by a little band of pioneers who, acquiring title to unnumbered acres by virtue6 of their service in the Revolution, pushed their way over the mountains from Virginia. Some of them brought their slaves with them, only to free them when they reached their new home. Other families from Virginia joined the little settlement and lent their hands to the battle with the wilderness7. That southern flavour had never been lost, nor the southern deliberateness and dislike of innovation, nor the southern preference for agriculture rather than for manufacture.
By mere8 chance of geographical9 position, Wadsworth lies half way between Parkersburg, a hundred miles away to the east, and Cincinnati, a hundred miles away to the south-west; so, when the great P. & O. railway, looking for new fields to conquer, purchased the local line which connected those two cities, and which was fast degenerating11 into a “streak of rust,” it saw that Wadsworth must be the centre of the new division, since it was the most economical place from which to handle the business of the division and at which to maintain the division shops. All this, however, it carefully concealed12 from public view, but, expressing a supreme13 indifference14 as to whether the shops were placed at Wadsworth or somewhere else, offered to bring them there for a bonus of a hundred thousand dollars. After long delay and hesitation15, the town was bonded16 for that amount, and the shops were formally established at the spot where they must, of necessity, have been placed.
Here also were the division offices, from which the business of the division was handled. They were upon the second floor of the dingy17 depot18 building which has been described more particularly in “The Young Train Dispatcher,” and need not be dwelt upon here, except to observe that the passing years had added to its dinginess19 and disreputable appearance.
From these offices there descended20, one bright October evening, lunch-basket in hand, a young man, who, springing lightly across the branching tracks of the yards, reached the street beyond and turned eastward21 along it. It was noticeable that he seemed to know everyone employed around the yards and that they seemed to know him, and greeted him with a cordiality evidently genuine.
Ten minutes’ walk brought him to a trim cottage standing back from the street, amid a bower22 of vines. Its grounds were ample, and well-kept. At one side was a little orchard23, whose trees showed the glint of ripening24 fruit. Farther back, near the barn, a cow was grazing, and the busy clatter25 of chickens came from an enclosure to the right. The place somehow gave the impression that those who lived within were happy and contented26 people; not rich, but able, by the labour of their hands, to assure themselves a comfortable livelihood—which is, perhaps, the happiest condition vouchsafed27 to human beings.
Through the gate of this house the young man turned, and went slowly up the walk leading to the door. But as he stretched out his hand to turn the knob, the door flew open and a girl of about sixteen fairly flung herself into his arms.
“Why, Mamie!” he cried. “Is it Mamie?” and he held her off for a moment’s inspection28. “When did you get back?”
“On Number Three,” she answered. “I had a notion to wait for you, and then I thought it would be nicer to come home and surprise you.”
The words “Number Three” stamped both speakers as of the railroad. For who but one raised in the atmosphere of the road would know that “Number Three” was the west-bound flier?
“See how brown I am,” she added, holding her face up for his inspection.
“Yes,” he agreed, looking down at her, “you are. Did you have a good time?”
“Only so-so,” she answered, smiling up at him. “I can have the best time of all right here at home.”
“So can I,” he agreed. “It’s been a little lonesome with you away.”
“Has it, Allan?” she asked, quickly, her eyes shining with the glint of sudden tears. “It’s nice of you to say that.”
“Well, it’s true: and it won’t hurt to say it, now you’re back. But I didn’t dare tell you when I wrote. I wanted you to enjoy your visit. I thought you were going to stay till Tuesday.”
“Oh, I couldn’t stay any longer than to-day!” she protested, quickly.
“Why not?” he asked, looking at her in surprise. “What’s going to happen to-day?”
“Come in and you’ll see,” she answered, and led him triumphantly29 into the house.
Through the hall they went, into the dining-room beyond, where a bright-faced woman, just entering middle-age, was putting the finishing touches to a table immaculately spread.
“Oh, there ye are!” she cried, turning as they entered. “What kept you so long, Allan?”
“I’ve been out here gossiping with Mamie,” he explained, laughing.
“I was afeerd the supper would git stale,” she said. “I don’t like to keep things warmed up; they ain’t got the same taste they have when they’re cooked jest right and served right away.”
“You needn’t wait for me, if there’s company,” he said, seeing that an extra place had been laid.
“Oh, I reckon the company’s willin’ to wait,” she retorted, with a laugh. “Only don’t be no longer than ye kin10 help.”
“I won’t,” Allan promised and hurried away.
Five minutes later, he opened the door of the dining-room again, and saw who the visitor was.
“Why, Reddy!” he cried, going quickly forward, his hand outstretched. “How are you? I’m glad to see you.”
“The same here, Allan,” answered Reddy Magraw, warmly gripping the hand outstretched to him in his own honest palm. “An’ mighty30 glad I was when Jack31 asked me t’ be here t’-day.”
“To-day,” echoed Allan, glancing quickly around at the smiling faces. “Why, what day is it?”
“Don’t you know?” asked Jack, his face all one broad grin. “Don’t you know, boy?”
“Oh, it’s a disgrace, Allan, if you don’t remember!” she cried.
“I’ll tell you what day it is, me boy,” said Reddy, his face beaming. “It’s jist eight year ago t’-day sence a little scalpeen named Allan West come along out there on Section Twinty-one an’ asked the foreman, Jack Welsh, fer a job. We’re meetin’ here t’-night t’ celebrate his good jedgment in givin’ ye one.”
“’Tis the thing in all my life I’m most proud of,” said Jack.
“An’ the thing that has made me happiest,” added Mary.
“And I’d never have forgiven him, if he hadn’t,” cried Mamie, at which they all laughed, a little uncertainly, and sat down, their hearts very tender.
“Can it really be eight years?” asked Allan, after a moment’s silence. “It doesn’t seem possible. And yet when one thinks what has happened—”
“They has a lot happened,” agreed Reddy. “An’ many a happy day we had out there on Section Twinty-one. Not that I don’t like the work now, Jack,” he added. “But my gang don’t seem t’ be loike the old one. Mebbe it’s because I’m gittin’ old an’ don’t see things with quite so much gilt34 on ’em as I used to.”
“Old! Nonsense!” cried Jack. “Why, you’re a young man, yet, Reddy.”
“No, I ain’t,” said Reddy. “I ain’t young by no means. An’ I’ve allers thought that that belt I got on the head from that runaway35 ingine had took some of the ginger36 out o’ me. But that’s all fancy, most likely,” he added, hastily, seeing Allan’s eyes upon him.
“Look here, Reddy,” said Allan, “do you think my hitting you that time had anything to do with it?”
“No, I don’t,” said Reddy. “I think that was the only thing that saved me. I’ve told ye already that I wouldn’t have complained if ye’d kilt me. Tell me about it ag’in, boy; I can’t hear that story too often.”
So Allan told again the story of that wild Christmas eve when, as track-walker, he had found a gang of wreckers tearing up the rails, and how the pay-car had been saved, and the lives of those in it.
“Oh, it must have been terrible!” cried Mamie, who had been listening with starting eyes, as though she had never before heard the story. “Think of creeping up alone on that gang of men! Weren’t you awfully38 frightened, Allan?”
“No,” answered Allan, smiling at her earnestness. “I didn’t have time to get frightened, somehow. But,” he added, laughing, “I don’t mind confessing, now, that two or three days later, as I lay in bed thinking the whole thing over, I was scared nearly to death. It’s a fact,” he went on, seeing their puzzled countenances39. “I just turned kind of faint thinking about it.”
“An’ no wonder,” said Reddy. “’Twas enough t’ make anybody turn faint. I remember jest sich another case. You knowed Tom Spurling, Jack?” he added, turning to Welsh.
“Yes,” nodded Jack.
“Well, then you’ll remember what a hot-headed feller he was—he had a head o’ red hair, by the way, purty nigh as red as mine. Well, one evenin’ he was hurryin’ acrost the yards t’ git his train—he was conductor on the west-bound accommodation. He was carryin’ his cap an’ his dinner-bucket an’ his lantern an’ his little red tin dickey-box, an’ he was hittin’ it up lively, bein’ a minute or two late. It was a kind o’ foggy night, an’ jest as he got to the platform, Bill Johnson’s yard ingine come up behind an’ poked40 him in the legs with its footboard. Well, everybody expected t’ see Tom ground up in about two winks41, but some way the ingine throwed him up on the platform, where he fell sprawlin’. Bill stopped the ingine an’ got down t’ see if Tom was hurted. Tom was settin’ up rubbin’ his head an’ glarin’ down at the lunch his missus had fixed42 up fer him an’ which was now scattered43 all over the platform and purty well mixed with cinders44.
“‘Are ye hurted, Tom?’ asked Bill.
“‘Jumpin’ Jehosaphat!’ says Bill. ‘Ye ain’t worryin’ about them are ye?’
“‘Yes, I am!’ yells Tom, jumpin’ to his feet. ‘Why don’t ye look where ye’re goin’ with thet ole mud turtle o’ yourn? Fer jest about half a cent—’
“But some o’ the fellers got ’em apart, an’ Tom climbed on his train a minute later, still cussin’ Bill fer the loss o’ his lunch.
“Well, sir, he run his train down t’ Cinci all right, an’ next mornin’ started back with her, an’ they’d got as fer back as Midland City, when one o’ the passengers come an’ told the brakeman that the conductor was sick. An’ mighty sick he was, layin’ in a seat, white as a sheet, lookin’ like his last hour had come.
“‘Fer Heaven’s sake, Tom,’ says the brakeman, ‘what’s the matter?’
“‘Kilt!’ says the brakeman. ‘Where? Shall I holler fer a doctor? Mebbe they’s one on board.’
“‘No,’ says Tom. ‘I ain’t hurted.’
“The brakeman thought he’d gone crazy.
“‘What you talkin’ about, anyhow?’ he says.
“‘No,’ goes on Tom, ‘but it’s God’s providence48 I wasn’t chewed into mincemeat.’
“‘When?’ says the brakeman.
“‘Last night,’ says Tom, ‘by thet yard ingine at Wadsworth. It’s jest come to me what a narrer escape I had.’
“Well, the brakeman told me, Tom was about the sickest man he ever seen fer an hour or more, an’ then he peckered up a little, an’ finally was all right ag’in.”
“I can imagine just how he felt,” said Allan, amid the laughter caused by Reddy’s story. “I fancy it’s a good deal like seasickness49. It just swoops50 down on you and takes the nerve out of you and leaves you limp as a rag.”
From one story, they passed to another—the wreck37 at Vinton, the fight at Coalville, Dan Nolan’s death—stories which have already been told in the earlier books of this series, and which need not be repeated here.
“Did ye ever hear anything more o’ that snake, Nevins, what I chased all over creation that night he tried t’ wreck the president’s special?” inquired Jack.
“Yes,” Allan answered, “I heard about him just the other day. Mr. Schofield told me that he had seen him at Cincinnati—passed him on the street.”
“What’s he doin’?” asked Jack, quickly.
“I don’t know. Earning an honest living, I hope. Mr. Schofield said he was well-dressed and seemed to be prosperous.”
“Well, mebbe he is earnin’ an honest livin’, but I doubt it,” said Jack. “I don’t think he knows how. That reminds me. I heard this arternoon that Hayes is goin’ to Springfield.”
“Yes,” said Allan. “He’s to be train master on the Illinois division.”
“Then that means that they’ll be a chief dispatcher to appoint here. Who’ll get it? Goodwood?”
“Yes; he’s next in line.”
“An’ that’ll make you senior dispatcher?”
“Yes.”
“When I think,” said Jack, “that eight year ago, this here felly was a kid lookin’ fer a job an’ that now he’s senior dispatcher, with a mighty good chance o’ bein’ superintindent some day, I begin t’ believe that a felly has a fair chance in this country, arter all. You know they’s allers sayin’ we’re all ground down by wealth; but I’ve noticed that the fellies who’s ground down are them that spends most o’ their time in some bar-room hollerin’ about it.”
“That’s true,” Allan agreed. “And don’t forget that you’ve gone up from section foreman to division roadmaster in the same time, and that you’re not done yet.”
“Yes, I am, me boy,” said Jack, gravely. “I haven’t got th’ eddication t’ go any furder. I’ve got the experience, but that’s only half the equipment a felly has to have to reach the top. I don’t know jest how it is, but eddication—the real thing—seems t’ kind o’ give a man a bigger grasp of things. He kin put two and two together quicker—he kin see furder.”
“Jack’s right,” said Reddy. “Now I’ve reached my limit in section foreman. It’s as fur as I kin go. I ain’t complainin’. I’m contented. But some of us is built fer speed, an’ some of us is built fer strength. Some of us has to pull freight, and some gits to pull polished Pullmans, but I reckon it all comes to th’ same thing in the end.”
“Yes,” said Allan, quietly, “passenger and freight all have the same destination. And you know, as well as I do, that it’s the freight that counts most when it comes to figuring results.”
The ringing of the telephone bell interrupted them, and Mamie ran to answer it. She was back in a moment.
“Somebody wants you, Allan,” she said. “Mr. Schofield, I think.”
Anxious eyes followed him, as he arose and went to the ’phone. A call from the superintendent51 might mean so many things—usually did mean disaster of some kind. He was gone a long time, and as the minutes lengthened52, the shadow on the faces of those about the table deepened. They tried at first to keep up a semblance53 of conversation, but that finally dropped away and they sat silent. That it was something serious was evident.
“No, it’s not a wreck,” he said, “and I’m not fired.”
He sat down, and the others waited. If it was anything he could tell them, they knew he would. If it was official business, they did not wish to question him.
“The fact is,” he went on, slowly, Mamie’s face with evident amusement, “a very unusual thing has happened.”
“Oh, Allan!” Mamie burst out, “if you’re going to tell us, please hurry and do it.”
“A very unusual thing,” Allan proceeded with provoking deliberation. “You know I told you that Mr. Hayes is going to Springfield.”
“Yes,” said Mamie, encouragingly, bouncing in her seat.
“Ain’t he goin’?” asked Jack.
“Oh, yes; he’s going. He went this afternoon. But the fact is, Goodwood don’t want his job.”
“Why?”
“He says the hours are too long, and the added responsibility more than the added salary. He says he’s contented where he is.”
“Ho!” said Reddy. “Reached his limit jest like me, an’ knows it. Well, it’s a wise man that knows when to let well enough alone.”
But Mamie’s face suddenly gleamed with understanding, and she jumped from her seat and rushed around the table to Allan’s side.
“I know!” she cried. “I know! Oh, you stupid people! Don’t you see? Allan’s to be chief dispatcher!”
They were all on their feet now.
“What, Allan! Is it?” cried Jack, incoherently.
“Yes,” answered Allan, “I guess it is.”
Jack came over to him and put his hands on his shoulders.
“Eight year ago to-day,” he said, looking him in the eyes. “I’m proud of ye, me boy. But I don’t need t’ tell ye that.”
“And he’ll make the best chief this division ever had,” added Reddy with conviction. “Where’s my hat?”
“But you ain’t goin’!” protested Mrs. Welsh. “It’s early yet.”
“I know it is,” said Reddy. “But I can’t stay. Not with this news in my craw. I must tell the old woman and the boys. They ain’t a man on the division that won’t be glad.”
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1
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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conducive
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| adj.有益的，有助的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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pervades
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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dispel
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| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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geographical
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| adj.地理的；地区(性)的 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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degenerating
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| 衰退，堕落，退化( degenerate的现在分词 ) | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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bonded
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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dinginess
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descended
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eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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bower
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| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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ripening
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clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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contented
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vouchsafed
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inspection
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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mighty
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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perplexed
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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gilt
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runaway
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ginger
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| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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countenances
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| n.面容( countenance的名词复数 )；表情；镇静；道义支持 | |
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poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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winks
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| v.使眼色( wink的第三人称单数 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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cinders
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| n.煤渣( cinder的名词复数 )；炭渣；煤渣路；煤渣跑道 | |
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victuals
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| n.食物；食品 | |
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groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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seasickness
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| n.晕船 | |
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swoops
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| 猛扑，突然下降( swoop的名词复数 ) | |
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superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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