[to be continued.]
[THE WRONG TRAIN.]
BY SOPHIE SWETT.
The night telegraph operator at Orinoco Junction had the mumps. His name was Samuel Dusenberry, and he was seventeen, which is young to have so responsible a position; in fact it was Sam's first position, and he was on trial. He was also the head of his family, and in that position Sam had been heard to grumblingly remark that he was also on trial, for Phineas and Mary Jane, and even little Ajax, thought they could manage things as well as he could.
Although seventeen is young for such responsibilities as Sam's, it is disgracefully old to have the mumps—or so Sam thought, and he persisted in declaring that he hadn't, while his cheeks swelled and swelled, until his watery smarting eyes were almost concealed; and he was extremely cross when little Ajax assured him that if he felt just as if he were not Sam at all, that was the mumps, because that was the way he felt when he had 'em. Mary Jane, who attended to the family grammar, was somewhat troubled because they all spoke of the disease as plural; but Phineas stoutly maintained that this was proper when you had 'em on both sides at once, like Sam.
He hadn't the mumps, and if he had, he was going to his work at the station that night; that was what Sam insisted, although Mary Jane begged him not to with tears in her eyes, and threatened to tell their mother, from whom they carefully kept every worrying thing, because she was a helpless invalid. It was only at the last moment, when he found that things began to whirl around him and his knees to shake, when he tried to get to the door, that Sam gave up, and said he supposed Phineas would have to go in his place.
"It is so fortunate," said Mary Jane, "that Phineas knows how."
"But he's such a sleepy-head. I ought to have asked the company to appoint a substitute. It's irregular, anyway, and if anything should happen—!" groaned Sam.
He was one who felt his responsibilities, and mumps are not conducive to cheerful views. As for Phineas, he felt that at last the boy and the opportunity had met. Phineas had been repressed—kept in the background all too long, in his own opinion, first by the supposed superior "smartness" of Sam, and second by the continual tutelage of his twin sister Mary Jane. Her whole attention seemed to be given to the subject of what a boy ought not to do; after a time this becomes wearing upon the boy. Perhaps Mary Jane had come to assume this unpleasant superiority because a heavy twin-sisterly duty constantly devolved upon her—keeping Phineas awake; in the history class, in the long prayer, when Uncle Samuel came, periodically, to give them good advice, Mary Jane found it always necessary to keep her eye on Phineas and the sharpest elbow in Orinoco in readiness.
At first Mary Jane had said that he ought not to learn telegraphy, because he could not keep awake; but when he persisted, she came to share his optimistic belief that it would keep him awake. But perhaps Sam's groan was not without its excuse; certainly no one disputed that Phineas was "a sleepy-head."
"I tell you it's hard for even an old stager to keep awake all night long"—Sam had been an operator for two months—"even when he's had some sleep in the daytime, as you haven't. It won't do for you to sit down at all, you know; or if you get all tired out walking round, sit on the tall three-legged stool out in the middle of the floor; if you get to nodding, that will tip over. I've fallen asleep once or twice, but it has waked me when my office has been called on the wire. It wouldn't wake you!"
"It won't have a chance, because I sha'n't be asleep," said Phineas, stoutly.
"Your eyesight is good, isn't it, Phin?"
"Well, I rather guess!" said Phineas, indignantly.
"You have to swing a red or a white lantern. I shall be glad when we have the semaphore signals on our road." (Sam's easy use of learned technical expressions always caused Mary Jane's mouth to open wide with admiration.) "I say, Phin, what color are Mary Jane's mittens?" Sam asked this question with sudden breathless eagerness. "A new operator, who was color-blind, wrecked the Northern Express on the L—— road!"
"Red," said Phineas, with scornful promptness, and was then forced to pass an examination in all the colors of Mary Jane's hooked rug.
"And if there's anything you don't understand, you can ask Lon Brophy in the ticket-office." Sam fell back on the lounge, with a long sigh, as he gave Phineas this parting assurance.
But Mary Jane ran out to the gate after him. "Don't sit down even on the three-legged stool. It might go over and you wouldn't wake. Think of the boy that stood on the burning deck, or the one that let the fox gnaw him, whenever you feel sleepy." Along with this stern advice Mary Jane forced upon Phineas a dainty lunch that she had prepared, and a can of coffee, which he could heat upon the station stove.
After all, Mary Jane was a good sister, and perhaps she did not deserve that Phineas should mutter, as he walked along, that it was a mistake for a girl to think herself so smart.
As Phin walked toward the station in the bracing air of the November night, he was hotly resentful of the distrust that had been shown of his ability to take Sam's place for just one night.
The station at Orinoco Junction was a lively place when Phineas relieved Tom Woolley, the day operator, at six o'clock. At that time many trains stopped, and they were crowded, because there was a great political gathering at L——, twenty miles farther on. The little restaurant was filled with a jostling crowd. The sharp cries of the popcorn boys mingled with political announcements and a running fire of boasts and jokes.
Tom Woolley took down his overcoat from its nail with a sigh of relief.
"They've kept me at it all day," he said.
But at the door he turned, as if struck by a sudden misgiving, and looked Phin over critically.
"It's going to quiet down by-and-by. Can you keep awake all night—a youngster like you?"
It seemed as if Mary Jane must have been telling; she always did talk and talk—a worse fault than being a little sleepy, if she had only known it, thought Phin. Tom Woolley was nineteen, and had an incipient mustache; he twirled its imaginary ends as he looked Phin over; and Phin's blood boiled.
"Oh, well, sonny, don't fire up," said Tom, easily; "but you'd better look sharp, you know," he added, with a grave nod. "There are a couple of extra trains expected, and the president of the road is likely to be on board of one of them; lives up at Ganges, you know—going home to vote."
Phin muttered that he guessed he could take care of extra trains, whether there were presidents on board or not, and when Tom Woolley had taken himself off, his courage rose, and he felt himself master of the situation.
By seven o'clock there came a lull; when the nine-o'clock bell rang from the Baptist church steeple you would have thought all Orinoco had gone to sleep. There were no trains between half past eight and ten. Nine o'clock was Phin's bedtime; it's queer, but almost anywhere, unless it's the night before the Fourth of July, a boy feels his bedtime; besides, the room was close, and the clock ticked monotonously. Phin heated his coffee and ate his luncheon; he wasn't hungry, but it was necessary to do something to shake off drowsiness. There was chicken, and Nep crunched the bones and barked for a cooky; after that he scratched the door and whined so that Phin was forced to let him out; he thought the dog only wanted to stretch his legs and breathe a little fresh air, but Nep walked deliberately homeward, and refused to be whistled back. Nep disliked irregular proceedings, and knew the comfort of one's own bed at night.
"Of course I don't really need him to keep me awake," Phin said to himself; but nevertheless his heart sank; he began to have a suspicion that nights were long.
He pulled himself together and began to walk the floor; when he grew so tired that he ached he drew the three-legged stool out into the middle of the floor and perched himself upon it.
Suddenly—it seemed only a moment after he had brought out that stool—he found himself in the office with his hand on the key; there had been a call on his office; he had been asleep, and had been wakened by it, as Sam boasted that he had been! A fellow might allow himself to drowse a little when he could wake like that.
No, the Punjaub express had not passed; that was what they wanted to know at Cowaree and all along the line. Presently uncomplimentary epithets began to be hurled at him over the wire. Sam had complained that the fellow at Cowaree had "the big head," but—the Punjaub express had passed, so they said!
He must have slept very soundly; the three-legged stool was tipped over; he remembered vaguely that he had picked himself off the floor to answer that call.
Drops of perspiration stood upon Phin's forehead when he returned to the waiting-room after that Cowaree fellow and the others had exhausted their eloquence.
He began a weary march around the room; it would not do to sit down again, even upon the three-legged stool. Did any one ever know, who had not tried it, what a terrible job it was to keep awake all night?
Another call! An order from the despatches to hold No. 39 express for orders, and run downward trains against it. That was a responsibility, for failure might involve serious accidents. There was no danger that he would fall asleep now!
And yet, after a long hour had dragged by, there was a heaviness upon his limbs, an oppression upon his brain. He forced himself to walk, but he remembered that he had read that sentries sometimes walked while fast asleep. Something must be done, and Phineas forced his wits to work; they were the wits that had floored the schoolmaster and helped to invent the skunk-trap.
He twined some cotton twine across the track at such a height that the train would break it. He fastened it to the platform railing, then drew it through the key-hole of the door; he tied a piece of zinc upon the end, and his coffee-can and the poker, and all these articles he placed upon the top of the stove. There were two trains to pass before the No. 39 express; there would certainly be a clatter that would awaken him to report the first one.
He lay down upon the lounge; he was conscious of a blissful, irresistible fall into a gulf of sleep, and then— There was no clatter, but a wild scream of pain and fright from the track. Phin sprang to his feet, his heart beating wildly; he had slept, and the accident he had dreaded had come! He rushed to the track. A man was scrambling to his feet, begging for mercy, and piteously demanding a temperance pledge; it was old Hosea Giddings, of Crow Hill, who never missed a night at the Junction saloon. He had tripped upon the string and broken it. It was evident that no train had passed, and Phin felt a thrill of relief. He stood back and let the old man scramble up unaided; it was well that he should find snares for his feet in the neighborhood of the saloon.
It grew still again, deadly still, after Hosea Giddings and his vows were out of hearing, and Phin felt that sleep was again settling down upon him. He found a ball of very stout linen twine—that was not a bad scheme if the string were strong enough; but this time he tied the end to his own wrist. A pull upon that would be more certain to awaken him than any noise. Two trains before the No. 39 express; after they had passed, a string would not serve, for that must be stopped with the red lantern.
He lay down again upon the lounge; the last thing that he remembered was feeling for the string about his wrist, to be sure that it was tight.
He was hurled violently across the floor; he felt an almost unendurable pain; there was a crash, as if heaven and earth came together, and then—was it a long time or only a moment afterwards that he saw Mary Jane's face bending over him? She had put water upon his face, and something redder than water was trickling from his wrist.
That twine had been strong enough to drag him, and it had cut his wrist almost to the bone; his head had hit the stove, and all those things that he had forgotten to take off it had come down and hit him.
"I had such a bad dream I just got up and came! I couldn't help it," he heard Mary Jane say.
It all seemed to him like a bad dream; but he heard himself say eagerly, although it sounded to him like a far-away voice, "No. 39 express, stop it! stop it!"
There was in the distance the thunder of a train. Mary Jane seized the red lantern from its nail and rushed out.
Though he was still half stupefied, Phin staggered to his feet and made his way to the door; in the moonlight he could see the flutter of Mary Jane's plaid shawl as she stood on the track.
The train slowed up, and came to a stop only a few feet from the plaid shawl.
The conductor demanded an explanation in an excited voice; the engineer and the brakeman were complaining in strong language that the train was behind time, and shouldn't have been stopped unless for a matter of life and death.
Phin had made his way to the track, although he was faint and dizzy; but his voice failed him when he tried to speak, for he realized in a flash that it was the Ganges branch train that Mary Jane had stopped!
"She—we meant to stop No. 39 express. I got hurt a little and mixed up," he faltered at length.
The conductor and the engineer and the brakeman and several train-boys and passengers expressed in chorus a strong though condensed opinion of the Orinoco station, and of telegraph operators who fell asleep and left girls to manage affairs. Perhaps it was as well for Phin's feelings that he could not stop to hear it all; there was a call on his office, and he hurried as well as he could to the instrument.
"Stop Ganges branch; tunnel bridge broken!" That was the message.
Phin seized the red lantern, which Mary Jane still held, as she sat, mortified and miserable, upon the door-step, and rushed up the track. The Ganges train had only just started on again, but there was evidently a distrust of Phin's red lantern; by the hootings with which it was greeted, Phin judged that they thought it a bad joke or another mistake. They seemed to mean to run him down. Well, then, they might!
Phin set his teeth, held the lantern aloft, and stood as if he were rooted to the track. He made ready to spring for the cow-catcher; it actually grazed him as he stood before the train stopped.
"Tunnel bridge broken!" he screamed, hoarsely, as he had been screaming incessantly above the rushing of the train and the din of angry voices; but it was mechanically now, and they had to carry him back to Mary Jane. His wrist had been bleeding all the time; the right wrist, too, that swung the lantern; and his head was badly hurt; and—well, it is no disgrace for a boy to faint sometimes.
"THERE WAS AN OLD GENTLEMAN WITH A FUR COLLAR TURNED UP TO HIS EARS WHO MADE FRIENDS WITH MARY JANE."
The passengers poured into the station; there was a great chorus of thanksgiving, and they made what Phin called a great fuss over him and Mary Jane. There was an old gentleman with a fur collar turned up to his ears, who made friends with Mary Jane. He seemed to feel deeply what a narrow escape the train had had, and he sharply rebuked the conductor when he said that the night was so light that they might have seen that the bridge was broken; he "did keep an eye on that bridge as soon as the frost came, because it was old." (It proved to have been a gang of discharged workmen who had wrecked the bridge.) The old man declared it a providential mistake that had stopped the wrong train and let the message arrive in time.
When they were relieved, in the early morning, after all the Ganges passengers had gone on by such conveyances as they could find, Phin and Mary Jane walked homeward together.
"You needn't say a word to Sam," warned Phin. "It would only worry him. I mean about stopping the wrong train, and all that. I've just heard that the old gentleman who talked to you was the president of the road. I hope you didn't tell him anything!"
The president of the road! Phin turned and looked with severe suspicion at Mary Jane, and Mary Jane turned so pale that the freckles stood out like little mud spatters on her face.
"I only told him how anxious Sam was," she faltered, "and what you did to keep awake—all about the zinc and poker and things, and how your wrist was cut."
"You've told the president of the road that I'm a sleepy-head! Now I hope you're satisfied!"
That was, I fear, an unhappy day for Mary Jane; but the next night, when Phin went down to help Sam, who would go, although he was not much better, Tom Woolley reported that he had received a message from that Cowaree fellow, the same one who was so uncomplimentary, that orders had been received from headquarters that a place was to be found, the very first desirable vacancy, for "a plucky, wide-awake fellow" who had substituted the night before in the Orinoco office. And a free pass had been ordered for Miss Mary Jane Dusenberry, with the compliments of her friend the president of the road.
As there has been occasion more or less of late to deprecate the holding of so-called "junior" events in track-athletic meetings, it is perhaps an appropriate time to devote some space to the subject of athletics for younger sportsmen, and to try to impress them, if possible, with the fact that any kind of training for boys under sixteen years of age is not only inadvisable but absolutely injurious. If boys of that age wish to take regular exercise—and they all should—there are better things for them to do than to train for contests of speed and endurance. They will do better for themselves if they will restrict their endeavors to a milder form of athletics, to simple body motions or calisthenics. This, of course, is not so interesting, and I know these words will fall upon many deaf ears, but their truth will be recognized none the less by those who have the slightest experience in such matters.
It is perhaps natural that young boys who see their older companions constantly at some kind of preparation, or training, for some branch of sport, should wish to imitate their elders, and go in to some similar kind of regular work. The older athletes, and those who look after their development, ought to use all their power to prevent the youngsters from trying to train, instead of encouraging them, as they do, by offering medals as prizes in "junior" events.
The last thing that growing boys should try to accomplish is to get hardened muscles. This sort of thing retards growth and development, thereby defeating the very end that the boys think they are attaining. The best kind of training for the younger lads is to keep regular hours, both for meals and sleep. They will find this more beneficial than to keep a regular hour each day for running or jumping or putting up heavy dumbbells. The boy who gets his breakfast, luncheon, and dinner at a regular hour each day, and who sleeps eight or nine hours each night, and who bathes every morning, will make a much stronger man than the boy who trains for "junior" events.
But, as exercise should form a part of each day's occupation, the sixteen-year-old boy should take his exercise in a way that will do him the most good. He will probably not find it so interesting at first, but he will soon discover that he is becoming a better specimen physically than his fellows who can run a hundred yards or a mile under a certain figure, that really does not mean very much.
FIG. 1.
There are a number of body motions that can be performed at home alone, or in the gymnasium with others, that develop the chest and the arms, the back and the legs, so that when the time comes when it can do no harm for a young man to enter into regular athletic training, his muscles are supple, his skin is clear, his chest is deep, his back is straight, and his legs are firm enough to allow of the natural strain which comes from any kind of training.
FIG. 2.
One of the simplest methods of developing the strength of the legs is to stand erect with the hands on the hips (Fig. 1), and to perform what is called the frog motion. That is to bend the knees and to squat down, rising at the same time on the toes, and keeping the body erect, from the waist up (Fig. 2). This motion should be continued up and down until you feel tired. Stop at once when the slightest sensation of fatigue is felt. At first a boy will not be able to perform this motion more than ten or a dozen times, but if he keeps it up every morning he will soon find that he does not become tired until he has dropped and risen again some seventy-five or a hundred times. The important point, however, that must be kept in mind all the time is not to overdo.
FIG. 3.
Having gone through the exercise just described, for a few minutes, it is well to try something else that will exercise a different set of muscles. For instance, stand erect and lift the arms high overhead, the palms turned outward, and then bring them rapidly down to the level of the shoulders and up again (Fig. 3). Do this a few times, and then try another arm motion. Stretch the arms forward, the finger-tips touching, and then swing them horizontally back as far as possible, rising on the toes at the same time (Fig. 4). As in the case of any other kind of work, this practice will tire the novice, but at the end of a few weeks it will be surprising to note how long the exercise can be kept up without fatigue.
FIG. 4.
These three exercises will be found sufficient for the first few weeks, but thereafter a greater variety may be adopted. An excellent exercise is to stand erect, with the hands lifted above the head, thumb to thumb, and then to bow over forward, keeping the knees stiff (Fig. 5). At first the hands will not come within eight or ten inches of the floor, but within a week or so it will be an easy matter to touch the carpet with the ends of the fingers.
FIG. 5.
Another movement that will develop the muscles of the waist and back is shown in Fig. 6. Stand erect, with the heels together and the arms akimbo, the hands firmly settled upon the hips. Then move the body about so that the head will describe a circle, the waist forming a pivot about which the upper portion of the body will move. At the start the circle described by the head will be very small, but as the muscles become limbered and the waist becomes supple the body will swing easily about through a much broader area.
FIG. 6.
There is no use denying that all these things are at the start uninteresting, and I know from experience that even with the best intentions there will be a strong temptation at the end of a week to give up the whole business. But here is where the sand and determination of the American boy must prove itself, and the lad who sticks to the monotonous exercise in his own bedroom will be the one in after-years to stand the best chance for a position on his college crew or eleven.
There was a man in my class in college who as a boy lived in a small town where there were no athletic contests. Some one told him that if he wanted to get strong he ought to start in in the morning and dip between two chairs, lacking parallel bars. His adviser told him to dip once the first morning, twice the second morning, three times the third morning, and so on. It is evident that on the last day of the year he would dip 365 times, if he could only keep up this regular increase. He soon found that he was unable to do this, but he was surprised at the end of the year to notice how easily he could dip a number of times between two chairs, whereas his playfellows could barely perform the act three or four times.
When that boy came to college he was the strongest in our class about the chest and arms and back, and could perform wonderful feats of lifting himself and of dipping on the parallel bars in the gymnasium. But, unfortunately, the man who had suggested to him to dip each morning between two chairs had not thought of telling him that he ought likewise in some manner to develop the muscles of his legs, and so he was consequently overdeveloped from the waist up and under-developed from the waist down. This goes to show that when exercising it is imperative that all the muscles of the body should be given an equal chance, otherwise some parts of the anatomy must suffer at the expense of others.
A very little exercise performed regularly and for a long period will do much more for any boy or man than vigorous exercise performed for one or two hours a day for only a few weeks during the year. It is the little drop of water falling constantly that wears away the stone.
CORRECT WAY TO HOLD A HOCKEY-STICK.
The accompanying illustration will give a better idea of the proportions of a hockey-stick, and the manner of holding it, than any description can do, better even than the photograph published in the last issue of the Round Table with a brief description of the game.
The members of the Arbitration Committee of the New York I.S.A.A. at a recent meeting voted to ask the University Athletic Club to accept the responsibility of acting as arbitrators in any future disputes between the schools. It is to be hoped that the University A.C. will undertake this, for a committee of college graduates can, beyond question, be more serviceable to the interests of amateur sport in this matter than any committee made up of individuals whose interests are closely related to scholastic athletics.
It is pleasant to note that the officials of the N.Y.I.S.A.A. refused to allow the tie between Berkeley and De La Salle for the skating honors of the League to be settled by the unsportsmanlike expedient of gambling. One of the schools wanted to toss a coin to settle the matter, but this was very properly overruled. There is only one step from this sort of thing to the settling of all contests by the arbiter of a coin without taking the trouble to go to the field. That is not sport. When it is proved (as in a jumping contest) that two contestants can do no better, after repeated attempts, one than the other, it is just and proper that some method be adopted to determine who shall have the medal—although the points must be split. If both contestants agree to toss for the medal, well and good; for the medal is merely an evidence of success, and does not in any way affect the merit of the contest which has already been settled and recorded, before the owners of half a medal each determined to take the chance of possessing two halves of a medal or no medal at all.
The renewal of athletic relations between Exeter and Andover seems to have put new life and energy into every branch of sport at the New Hampshire school. An enthusiastic meeting of the entire school was held a few days ago in order to collect money for the management of a track-athletic team, and a very respectable sum was realized. More men have turned out for practice than for many years at Exeter, and the Captain of the team feels greatly encouraged over the prospects for the winter and spring season. A team of Exonians will go down to the big in-door meeting of the B.A.A., and a still stronger team will probably be gathered to represent the school at the New England I.S.A.A. games in June. Dual games with Worcester and Andover will probably also be arranged. It is pleasing to note this renewed activity at Exeter, for there was a time—just about ten years ago—when the P.E.A. accepted second place to nobody in athletics. The decadence which the school has just passed through, and from which she is now making a vigorous endeavor to arise, may prove to have been a blessing in disguise. The fact that all this was the result of questionable methods in sport should stand as a glaring proof that straightforwardness, after all, is the only path to success in athletics as well as in any other work. Exeter now stands as a champion of purity in sport, and for that reason we may very well look forward to her brilliant success within the next few years.
In connection with the news of activity in northern New England comes the report from New Haven that the Hillhouse High-School will not put a track-athletic team into the field this spring. At a recent school meeting this action was definitely determined, and it was voted that the school would support a baseball team only. If it was found that the school could only support one of these two branches of sport, the choice to keep up baseball was a wise one, but at the same time it is regrettable to see so strong a member of the Connecticut Inter-scholastic League as H.H.-S. fall out of the ranks. So far as I am able to ascertain at the present writing, the reason for dropping track athletics was purely financial, but as the Connecticut Association seems to be rich just now, perhaps this obstacle may be removed.
The comment upon the dispute over the football "championship" going on between the Southbridge High-School and the North Brookfield High-School, printed in a recent issue of this Department, has called forth a number of letters from partisans of both sides. The actual standing of the affair seems, however, to be very clearly settled by Mr. T. E. Halpin, Vice-President of the Worcester County South A.A., who assures me that there existed no league for football in the Worcester County South A.A. this fall, and that therefore there was no possibility of there being any "championship" of football in that association, since the W.C.S.A.A. claims no jurisdiction over football affairs. It would seem that Southbridge and North Brookfield have been wasting a great deal of valuable breath and writing-paper over nothing, and if the two schools are uncertain as to which is the better in athletics, they might preferably wait until next spring and settle the question on the baseball-field.
W. S. McCLAVE OF TRINITY WINNING THE NOVICE RACE AT STAMFORD.
At the Skating-races held recently in Stamford, W. S. McClave, of Trinity, proved himself one of the cleverest of the skaters present, and won several important races. The illustration on another page represents McClave winning the novice race.
It has been decided that the race between the crews of the Milwaukee East Side High-School and the St. John's Military Academy shall take place on the last Saturday in June.
It seems necessary to repeat every few months that the editor of this Department can pay no attention to anonymous communications. Correspondents who desire to have their questions answered, whether by mail or through these columns, must give their names.