The boy glanced at the clock and saw that it was nearly six; then he rose, stretched himself, and was putting on his coat when the door opened and the chief-dispatcher came in. One glance at his worried countenance told the boy that something was wrong.
“I just got a ’phone from the hospital,” he said, “that Roscoe, the night man at Coalville, was hurt awhile ago. He was coming down to catch his train, when a runaway horse knocked him down and broke his leg.”
“Who’s going out?” inquired one of the dispatchers.
“I don’t know yet,” answered the chief, a line of worry between his eyes. “I’ve sent the caller after Hermann. Here he is now,” he added, as the caller hurried into the office. “Well?”
“Hermann can’t come,” the caller announced. “He’s sick in bed with the grip.”
The chief glanced at the clock.
“We’ve only got ten minutes,” he said. “Whoever goes has got to catch the accommodation.”
“Why can’t I go?” asked Allan, coming forward. “I’ll be glad to, if it’ll be any help.”
“Will you?” said the chief, eagerly. “Good for you! But you’ve had a hard day. I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he added. “I’ll hunt up an extra man at Parkersburg or Athens and send him to Coalville on Number Eleven. That will let you off at midnight.”