“Number Two just passed. Was just going to report her.”
The dispatcher leaned back in his chair, his face livid, and stared mutely at the trainmaster.
“There’s no night office between here and Musselman,” he said, hoarsely. “There’ll be a head-end inside of ten minutes.”
Allan had listened with white face. He shut his eyes for an instant and fancied he could see the passenger and freight rushing toward each other through the night. Then, suddenly, he sprang erect.
“Do you know the number of that outside wire on the lower cross-arm?” he asked the trainmaster.
“Yes—fifteen—”
“Can you cut it in?”
“Of course—but what—”
“No matter—do it!” cried Allan, and sat down at the key, while the trainmaster went mechanically to the switchboard and pushed the proper plug into place.