Scientific Sprague

FRANCIS LYNDE
ILLUSTRATED BY E. ROSCOE SHRADER
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS NEW YORK :::::::::: 1912
Copyright, 1912, by CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS Published October, 1912
Where another man might have asked questions, he stood aside and looked on and listened.
CONTENTS
ILLUSTRATIONS
Scientific Sprague
CONNOLLY, off-trick division despatcher, doubling on the early night trick for Jenner, whose baby was sick, snapped his key-switch at the close of a rapid fire of orders sent to straighten out a freight-train tangle on the Magdalene district, sat back in his chair, and reached for his corn-cob pipe with a fat man’s sigh of relief.
Over in the corner of the bare, dingy office, Bolton, night man on the car-record wire, was rattling away at his type-writer; and on the wall opposite the despatcher’s table the electrically timed standard clock was ticking off the minutes between eight-fifty-five and nine. While Connolly was striking a match to light his pipe, Bolton tore the type-written sheet out of his machine and twisted himself in his chair to ask a question.
“What’s the good word from the Apache Limited?” he inquired, his evil little eyes blinking indecently. And then, before Connolly could reply: “It’s up to me to ‘buy’ for the boys to-night. My little girl-doll is comin’ on the Apache. Whadda you know about that: chasin’ me all the way from little old New York.”
The fat despatcher knew precisely where the Limited was, but he glanced at his train-sheet from sheer force of habit.