Unexpectedly, the outside office door opened. Joe Quigley, bedraggled and haggard, one arm hanging limp at his side, splashed toward the desk. Seeing Penny, he stopped short, yet seemed too dazed to question the girl’s presence in the inner office.
“It’s awful,” he mumbled. “I was on the station platform when I saw that wall of water coming. Tried to warn the men in the roundhouse. Before I could cross the tracks, it was too late. One terrific crash and the roundhouse disappeared—”
“You’re hurt,” Penny cried as the agent reeled against the wall. “Your arm is crushed. How did it happen?”
“Don’t know,” Joe admitted, sinking into a chair the girl offered. “I was knocked off my feet. Came to lying in a pile of boards that had snagged against a tree trunk.” He stared at Penny as if really seeing her for the first time. “Say,” he demanded, “how did you get in here?”
“Smashed the window. It was the only way.”
The agent got to his feet, staggering toward the telegraph desk.
“I’ve got to send a message,” he said jerkily. “No. 30’s due at Rodney in twenty minutes.”
“All the trains have been stopped by the dispatcher,” Penny reassured him, and explained how she had sent out the call for help.
Joe Quigley slumped back in the chair. “If you can telegraph, let the dispatcher know I’m on the job again. This hand of mine’s not so hot for sending.”
Penny obediently sent the stumbling message, but as she completed it the telegraph sounder became lifeless. Although she still could manipulate the key, the signals had faded completely.