“I have an order for you to send a car of spikes on No. 7, Callahan. I was trying to find you when I got caught in the frog.” The pain in his foot overcame Bucks as he spoke. Another dread was in his mind and he framed a question to which he dreaded to hear the answer. “Is my foot gone?” he faltered.
The yardmaster hesitated a moment and turned to an older man at his side wearing a heavy cap. “How about it, doctor?” he asked.
Doctor Arnold, the railway surgeon, a kindly but stern man, answered briefly, “We won’t take it off this time. But if he is that careless again we will take his head off.”
“How old are you, boy?” demanded Callahan.
“Seventeen.”
“Well, your foot isn’t hurt,” he continued 31 gruffly. “But it’s only God’s mercy that I got here in time to pull you out of the frog.”
The operator was already up. “I hope I shan’t forget it,” he said, putting out his hand. “Will you remember the spikes?”
“I will,” responded Callahan grimly. “And I guess–––”
“Say it,” said the operator gamely, as the yardmaster hesitated.
“I guess you will.”