“BX! Qk! Qk!” flashed the lantern.
The station light disappeared. “Got ’em!” cried Alex.
“Just tell them first to stop Twenty at the Junction,” said the foreman.
“Right,” responded Alex, and while the rest watched in profound silence, he signaled:
“STOP NUMBER 20 AT JUNCTION. SPUR SWITCH IS THROWN. GOT IT?”
As Alex read off the promptly flashed “OK,” the foreman sprang to his feet and gave vent to a joyful hurrah of relief that echoed again in the clearing and woods. Then, as Alex recovered the lantern, he caught him under one arm, carried him down the ladder, and there, despite his objections, hoisted him to the shoulders of two of the now enthusiastic Poles, and all set off jubilantly down the spur for the switch, and home.
And an hour later Alex’s father and mother, anxiously awaiting him at the station, discovered his approach carried at the head of a sort of triumphal procession of the entire gang of trackmen.
When Alex’s father the following morning reported the occurrence to the chief despatcher, that official called Alex to the wire to congratulate him personally.
“That was a fine bit of work, my boy,” he clicked. “I see you are cut out for the right kind of railroader. If fourteen wasn’t a bit too young I would give you a job on the spot. But we will give you a start just as soon as we can, you may be sure.”