I did.
“Sure,” clicked McFlin; “77 on time. Pass her through. Rotten night, isn’t it? They got a plow leading the limited like a blind baby. So-long.”
That was at eleven two. Twenty minutes later Donaldson started after us again, but it was a chattering, wild Donaldson; a new Donaldson who tumbled his letters over each other.
“N-H, N-H, N-H,” he stuttered, even after I had opened the wire. “N-H, N-H.”
I sent him a string of Rs a mile long before he acknowledged. Then:
“What’s the matter with you up there?” he clicked. “Gone to sleep? But you can’t sleep now; you’ve got to talk to me or I’ll be ready for the queer house. Something is walking up and down outside my window. I’ve seen it twice. It can’t be a man, and animals don’t prowl about in a storm like this. Listen to that wind. I tell you it’s walking around the station. What am I saying? Do you believe in ghosts? It was in the waiting-room a while back, but it got out before I had a shot at it. What would you do if you were down here alone, snowed in like a damned Eskimo? What would you do if it started to walk—”
Big Ben strode across the room. “Give me the key,” he thundered. His eyes were hard gray now, like rock, with little points of fire in them, and it seemed he would smash the instrument as he crashed down with Donaldson’s call.
“Stop that!” went the dots and dashes, clear cut, fast, but Lordy, they had a punch behind ’em. “Pull yourself together. Take some more whisky. Wake up. Remember you’re an operator. You’ve got to handle the Limited to-night. No more of that. You know damn well nothing is walking around down there except you. Rub some snow in your face. Wake up, I say. I’ll talk to you as much as you like, but no more spook stuff.”
“You’re right,” came the slower response. “I won’t bother you any more. Nevertheless, it’s walking around here. Maybe I’ll get a shot at it. I’ll let you know if I do.”
That was all, and Ben and I looked across the table into each other’s eyes. “Well?” I questioned.