"You get that wagon moved!" shrilled the conductor. "You're obstructing the United States mail, and I guess you know what that means!"
Reference to the mail evidently had its effect upon the boss, for he very deliberately clambered to the ground and made his way leisurely toward the stalled wagon. "Give 'em the gad, ye wooden head! What ye standin' there wid yer mout' open fer?"
Once more the driver plied his heavy lash and the big horses strained to the pull. But it was of no avail.
"They can't pull it, it ain't any good to lick 'em," remonstrated the engineer. "A couple of you boys climb up and throw some of that stuff off. We can't wait here all day."
The fireman and the brakeman started toward the load, but were confronted by the glowering boss. "Ye'll lay off a couple av trips while they fan ye back to life, av ye try ut!" he roared. The men turned back, and the boss addressed the engineer. "You try ut yersilf, av ye're lookin' fer a nice little lay-off in the hospital. Av ye lay here all day an' all night, too, ye've got no wan but yer company to thank. Who was ut put them rotten planks in that crossin'?"
The engineer possessed a certain diplomacy that the conductor did not.
"Sure, it's the company's fault. Any one can see that. They've got no business putting such rotten stuff into their crossings. I didn't want to butt in on you, boss, but if you'll just tell us what to do we'll help you get her out of there."
The boss regarded him with suspicion, but the engineer was smiling in a friendly fashion, and the boss relented a little. "Mostly, ut's the company's fault, but partly ut's the fault av that blockhead av a teamster av mine. He ain't fit to drive a one-horse phaeton fer an owld woman's home." While the boss talked he eyed the stalled wagon critically. "Come over here, a couple av you sleepwalkers!" he called, and when the men arrived from the flat cars, he ripped out his orders almost in a breath. "Git a plank befront that hind wheel to ride ut over the rail! You frog-eater, there, that calls yersilf a teamster—cramp them horses hard to the right! Freeze onto the spokes now, ye sons av rest, an' ROLL 'ER!" Once more the big horses threw their weight into the traces, and the men on the wheels lifted and strained but the wagon held fast. For a single instant the boss looked on, then with a growl he leaped toward the wagon.