But still there came no opening for a regular position. A railroad does not “play favourites,” no matter how deserving they may be. So long as a man does his work well, his position is his; and he stands in regular line for promotion. Incompetency brings its punishment, swift and sure; just as signal services, in time, bring their reward; but reward and punishment are according to an established rule.
For the record of every man is kept minutely from the hour he enters the employ of the road. What he may have been or done before that does not matter, once employment is given him—he starts square. But even the smallest thing he does after that does matter, as he finds out, in course of time, to his amazement and chagrin. The trainmaster keeps, in a drawer of his desk, a little book bound in red leather, wherein entries are made every day; and the heart of the trainman who is “on the carpet” falls when he sees it produced. It affects him a good deal as the book wherein the Recording Angel writes will affect most of us at the Day of Judgment.
It happened, at this particular moment, that all the operators’ positions on the road were filled by competent men, and so Allan had to wait until some one of them was promoted or resigned. As for Jim, he had reconsidered his decision to become an operator. He had a natural love and aptitude for machinery, and he finally determined to remain in the branch of the service where he was, and seek promotion where he would probably deserve it most. But Allan’s mind was made up, and he lost no opportunity to perfect himself. Often, after supper, he would return to the dispatchers’ office and prevail upon the night operator to permit him to attend to his work for awhile, and in this way he got valuable practice; but he longed for the day when he should be given a key of his own—when the responsibility would be all his.
The chance came at last. He was just finishing up his work, one evening, preparatory to going home to supper, when the instrument on the chief-dispatcher’s desk began to call. Allan, without really listening, heard the message:
“Night man at Byers Junction reported sick. Send substitute.”
The chief-dispatcher clicked back “O. K.,” and closed the key. Then he wheeled about in his chair and met Allan’s eager eyes.
“There’s a job for you,” he said, “if you want it.”
“Want it!” echoed Allan. “I certainly do!”
“And if you think you can fill it,” the chief added. “The work at Byers is pretty heavy.”
“I’ll do my best,” Allan promised.