The Young Train Dispatcher

by Burton Egbert Stevenson

In safety, this time; for the dispatcher is one who knows his business and takes no chances. Proceeding on the theory that the train has got past, he keeps the track clear and holds up the road’s traffic until the missing train can be found. Which, of course, is as soon as it reaches the next station—for on that end of the road, every operator, knowing what is wrong, has his eyes wide open. A mighty sigh of relief goes up as it is reported; traffic starts again with a rush. And the next day, the operator who swore so positively that the train had not got past was hunting another job.

The dispatcher in charge of the west end was doing his best to keep the track clear for Number Two, the east-bound flyer, the premier train of the road, with right of way over everything; but there was no telling what any train would do on such a night, and the flyer had already been held ten minutes at Vienna because a freight-train had stuck on the hill east of there and had to double over. The dispatcher set his teeth and vowed that there should be no more delay if he had to hold every other train on the division until the flyer passed. But freight conductors have a persuasive way with them, and when Lew Johnson reported from Lyndon at 8.40 that his train was made up, engine steaming finely, and that he could make Wadsworth easily in half an hour, the dispatcher yielded and told him to come ahead.

But Johnson had exaggerated a little, for his wife was sick and he was anxious to get home to her; the engine was not steaming so well, after all, the flues got to leaking, and when the train finally coasted down the grade into the yards at Wadsworth, the flyer was only ten minutes behind. Still, a miss is as good as a mile, and the dispatcher heaved a sigh of relief, as he looked out from the window and saw the freight pull into the yards. He stood staring a moment longer, then sprang to his key and began calling Musselman.

The trainmaster swung around sharply.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“An extra west has just pulled out of the yards,” gasped the dispatcher. “It had orders to start as soon as Number Two pulled in. The engineer must have thought that freight was the flyer,” and he kept on calling Musselman.

In a moment came the tick-tick, tick-tick, which told that the operator at Musselman had heard the call.

“Flag Number Two!” commanded the dispatcher, “and hold till arrival extra west.”

There was an instant’s suspense; then the reply came ticking slowly in: