It seemed a pity to spoil that new pretty model of the car builder's art. Ralph discerned that the box car was ready for the scrap heap, and decided.
He pulled the switch over, not a moment too soon, jumped back, and the next minute the freight train struck the solitary box car, and it collapsed like a folding accordion.
[CHAPTER XXIV--A NEW ENEMY]
The box car was smashed teetotally. The car that struck it had one end battered in, its rear trucks rode up over the débris threatening to telescope or derail others, but the engineer ahead, catching the token of some obstruction from the shock, shut off steam quick enough to prevent any very serious general results.
The crash had sounded far and wide. Ralph stood surveying the wreck and ruin in a kind of fascinated daze.
Yardmen came rushing up from all directions. Soon too, the brakeman of the freight and its engineer were hurrying to the scene of the wreck.
More leisurely, a man carrying a cane, faultlessly dressed, and accompanied by the depot master, crossed from the semaphore house to the spot.
Ralph turned to look at the stranger of the twain as he heard a voice in the crowd say:
"There's Bardon, the inspector."
The engineer was vociferously disclaiming any responsibility in the affair, and his brakeman tranquilly listened to him as he recited that he had taken signals as set.