As June had visited the stable and told the liveryman of Wayne’s illness as soon as it became evident that the latter couldn’t go to work, and as Mr. Callahan had given June to understand that the position would be kept open, Wayne was too astounded to even make a reply, and it wasn’t until he was a full block away that it occurred to him to be either indignant or disappointed. And then, as neither indignation nor disappointment promised any relief, he tried his best to swallow them and put his mind on the problem of finding other work. There was another livery stable in town that he knew of, and there might be still more that he didn’t know of, and, while driving a carriage wasn’t at all his idea of a satisfactory occupation, it brought money to his pocket and enabled him to live, and whereas he had not been particularly interested in living four days ago, today he was convinced that it was not only desirable but delightful. There is at least this to be said for an illness: after it is through with you it leaves you with a greater appreciation of life.
Wayne visited the stable he knew of but received no encouragement. The foreman told him that they had all the men they needed and that they didn’t expect to have a vacancy in the near future. He directed Wayne to another livery, however, at the farther side of town, and Wayne set off. His course took him over the railroad about a block beyond the freight sheds. It was nearly nine by then and the scene about him was a very busy one. Cars were loading and unloading beside the long, high platforms, while, on the other side of the sheds, trucks and drays were coming and going along the cobbled street. A switch engine was tooting frantically for a switch and a long train of day coaches and sleepers sent Wayne scurrying out of the way. Then an impatient engine clanged up with a couple of gondolas laden with machinery and contemptuously jerked them onto a side-track, spurting off again as though vastly relieved to be rid of such trifling company. There were many tracks where Wayne crossed and one had to keep one’s eyes opened. When he was half-way over a pounding of the rails caused him to look down the line. A long train of empty box cars was backing toward him at a brisk speed, the locomotive out of sight at the far end. Wayne hurried his pace and reached an empty track in plenty of time, and was for paying no more heed to the string of empties until a shout behind him brought his head quickly around.
On the roof of the first car a man was doing two things at once. He was yelling at the top of his voice and swinging himself over the end of the car to the ladder there as fast as he could. A few yards distant, squarely in the middle of the track, stood a boy of five or six years. Afterward Wayne wondered where he had come from, for surely he had not been in sight a moment before, but just now there was no time for speculation. The child, terrorised into immobility, stood as though rooted to the cinders between the rails. [Wayne’s cry was uttered involuntarily as he leaped forward.] Only one line of track separated him from the boy, but it seemed impossible for him to reach the latter before the bumper of the box car struck him.
[Wayne’s Cry Was Uttered Involuntarily as he Leaped Forward]
As Wayne dashed forward with a horrified, sickening fear at his heart the brakeman dropped from the car ladder. But he staggered as his feet touched the ground, and had the boy’s safety depended on him he would never have escaped. It was Wayne who caught him up roughly and half lifted, half dragged him across the further rail to safety just as the end of the car swept over the spot on which he had stood. So close was the escape that the corner of the car struck Wayne’s hip and sent him reeling to fall on his knees against the end of the ties of the next track, the child sprawled beside him. Dazed, breathless, Wayne struggled to his feet, pulling the lad up with him. Twenty feet distant a switch engine had stopped with grinding brakes, and engineer and fireman were running toward him. The train of empty box cars rolled stolidly on, but in a moment began to slow down with much bumping and clatter of couplings, while back along the roofs sped the brakeman whose warning shout had alarmed Wayne. Just what happened during the next few minutes Wayne couldn’t recall afterward. The lad, his face crushed to Wayne’s worn coat, was sobbing hysterically. The engineer and fireman were there, and presently the brakeman dropped down beside them, and after that other men appeared as though by magic. Everyone talked at once and it was all very confused. Someone took the boy from Wayne and lifted him in arms and someone else propelled Wayne across toward the freight house. About that time the talk around him began to register itself on his brain.
“’Tis Jim Mason’s kid,” said one. “’Twould have broke his heart entirely had the lad been hurted!”
“Hurted!” scoffed another. “Sure, ’tis dead he’d be this minute save for this la-ad here! ’Twas a close shave at that, I’m telling you. Faith, I shut my eyes, I did so!” It was either the engineer or the fireman speaking. “Are you hurted, me boy?” This was to Wayne, and Wayne shook his head silently. “Your hands be cut a bit, but they’ll soon mend.”
“You’d better wash the dirt out,” advised another as they climbed the steps at the end of the platform. “I’ve known lockjaw to come from less, and——”
But just then they entered the dim twilight of the shed and Wayne, pushed ahead by his good-natured captors, lost the rest of the cheerful remark. Someone shouted for “Jim! Jim Mason!” and an answering hail came from further down the shed and a big man advanced toward them, illumined for a moment as he passed one of the wide, sunlit doorways.