Danger Signals. John A. Hill

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СКАЧАТЬ align="right">XIIHow A Smart Operator Was Squelched—The Galveston Flood96XIIISending My First Order105XIVRunning Trains By Telegraph—How It Is Done111XVAn Old Despatcher's Mistake—My First Trick125XVIA General Strike—A Locomotive Engineer For A Day137XVIIChief Despatcher—An Inspection Tour—Big River Wreck147XVIIIA Promotion By Favor And Its Results160XIXJacking Up A Negligent Operator—A Convict Operator—Dick, The Plucky Call Boy168XXAn Episode Of Sentiment185XXIThe Military Operator—A Fake Report That Nearly Caused Trouble192XXIIPrivate Dennis Hogan, Hero203XXIIIThe Commission Won—In A General Strike222XXIVExperiences As A Government Censor Of Telegraph237XXVMore Censorship246XXVICensorship Concluded257XXVIIConclusion270

Illustrations

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Part I

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"Quick as a flash the Kid had my arm."	Frontispiece
"I noticed his long, slim hand on the top of the reverse-lever."	50
"It was a strange courting … there on that engine."	70
"We carried him into the depot."	90
"He was the first man I ever killed."	170
"'Mexican,' said I."	234
"What seemed to be a giant iceberg. … "	282
"A white city … was visible for an instant."	290

Part II

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Facsimile Of A Completed Order As Entered In The Despatcher's Order-Book	1
"Two of the men tied my hands in front of me."	14
"After many efforts I finally reached the lowest cross-arm."	30
"One of them picked up the lantern, and swaggering over to where I sat all trembling. … "	46
"He looked at me … then catching me by the collar. … "	95
" … Half lying on the table, face downward, dead by his own hand"	128
"See here, who is going to pull this train?"	158
"Are you not doing it just because I am a woman?"	190
" … Dennis, lying under the telegraph line, his left hand still grasped the instrument"	222

DANGER SIGNALS.

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Part I.

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JIM WAINRIGHT'S KID

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      As I put down my name and the number of the crack engine of America—as well as the imprint of a greasy thumb—on the register of our roundhouse last Saturday night, the foreman borrowed a chew of my fireman's fine-cut, and said to me:

      "John, that old feller that's putting on the new injectors wants to see you."

      "What does he want, Jack?" said I. "I don't remember to have seen him, and I'll tell you right now that the old squirts on the 411 are good enough for me—I ain't got time to monkey with new-fangled injectors on that run."

      "Why, he says he knowed you out West fifteen years ago."

      "So! What kind o' looking chap is he?"

      "Youngish face, John; but hair and whiskers as white as snow. Sorry-looking rooster—seems like he's lost all his friends on earth, and wa'n't jest sure where to find 'em in the next world."

      "I can't imagine who it would be. Let's see—'Lige Clark, he's dead; Dick Bellinger, Hank Baldwin, Jim Karr, Dave Keller, Bill Parr—can't be none of them. What's his name?"

      "Winthrop—no, Wetherson—no, lemme see—why, no—no, Wainright; that's it, Wainright; J. E. Wainright."

      "Jim Wainright!" says I, "Jim Wainright! I haven't heard a word of him for years—thought he was dead; but he's a young fellow compared to me."

      "Well, he don't look it," said Jack.

      After supper I went up to the hotel and asked for J. E. Wainright.

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