The Junior Trophy

by Ralph Henry Barbour

I said “cold world” because it sounded appropriate. As a matter of fact the world was anything but cold to-day. The sun seemed warm enough for April, the paths in places were inches deep in slush and water and from the eaves of the building there fell a miniature Niagara. Kid thought wistfully of his arctics, reposing uselessly in his closet upstairs, as he hurried down the drive, plowing through snow and slush. By the time he was out on the road his shoes were very wet, his old red sweater too warm and the ulster over his arm too heavy. Half a mile from school he was thinking distastefully of the forty long miles stretching between him and the Hudson. He didn’t feel nearly so well as he had in bed; at the end of the first mile, while he was skirting the village, he became weak and dizzy and had to sit down on a stone wall. The dizziness passed, however, and presently he took up his journey again. But already the first enthusiasm was gone. The world looked extremely large, much too large for a small boy with two very wet feet and a “goneness” in his tummy. The shortest way to the river was by the railroad, whose single line of track ran almost due east, and so Kid, once beyond Mt. Pleasant, climbed up the embankment and began walking the ties. For a while the novelty interested him. Then, the ties having been laid all wrong for such short legs, he tried walking on the rails.

About that time he approached a group of workmen and pulled his cap down further over his face as he passed. One sang out to him in Italian and Kid hurried his steps. They were not a nice looking lot of men. By two o’clock Kid had done some three miles. That left only thirty-seven, he reflected. If he walked ten miles more before dark—his heart sank. Where was he to spend the night? Two silver half-dollars, a dime and two pennies looked horribly small just then. He would either have to beg or run out of funds long before he reached the river. He stopped and gazed irresolutely back toward Mt. Pleasant. He sort of wished he had waited until he had more money. Running away to be a sailor was fast losing its glamour. With a very, very little encouragement Kid would have turned and retraced his steps. But there was no one there to offer the encouragement; only the spires of the churches in Mt. Pleasant which, showing above the trees, seemed to beckon him. But it was too late now, Kid told himself with a sigh that was almost a sob; the die was cast; he must go on! So on he went, his legs getting tired and tireder and his stomach, weak from his sickness and empty of food, rebelling more and more. Progress was slow. A curve in the track shut off the distant view of the spires and it seemed to Kid that the last bond had been severed.

The track here had been cut through the side of a low hill and the banks of earth arose high on each side of him so that his footsteps on the wet ties echoed back and made him feel more depressed and lonesome than ever. The cut extended for several hundred feet, always turning gradually around the base of the hill. On the south side the snow covered the bank and tiny glaciers had formed, but across the track the warmth of the sun had melted the snow and little rivulets of water were wearing runways into the gravel. Kid had passed the middle of the cut and the Banks on either side had diminished in height when he saw that a few yards ahead one rail was buried almost a foot deep in sand and gravel and small stones. Kid hurried forward. There had been a slide of earth from the bank. Frost and sun had combined to deposit a ton or so of earth between the bank and the middle of the track, and the rail on that side for a space of several feet was hidden deep. Kid was vaguely troubled. He didn’t know much about such matters, but it seemed to him that if a train came along it would have some difficulty getting over it. Well, he supposed it was no affair of his. The engineer would see it and stop the train and shovel it off; that was about what would happen, he supposed. Only, because of the curve, perhaps the engineer wouldn’t see it in time. Then there’d be an awful jounce—worse than when you went over a curbing in an automobile; Kid had done that once and knew—and perhaps the wheel might get off the rail and there’d be an accident. He wished the track were straighter so the engineer would be certain to see the obstruction in time. He began to think that perhaps it was his duty to do something about it, to tell someone. But who was there to tell? The track-workers were a mile behind by now and a train might come long before he could reach them. Besides, he reflected, since they were Italians, he wasn’t at all certain he could make them understand!

Kid sat down on a convenient rock across the track and frowned over the problem. Of course, as there was only one pair of rails, trains could only come from one direction at a time. If he only knew which direction the next train would come from he could go that way and warn the engineer. He tugged at his leather fob and grunted until a small silver watch slipped into sight. Nearly half past two. The afternoon train from New York reached Mt. Pleasant at—why, it was almost due there now! Kid bounded to his feet and set off down the track as fast as his legs would take him. He reached the end of the cut and the track straightened ahead of him for a quarter of a mile. There was nothing in sight. Out of breath and tuckered, he stopped and listened. At first he heard nothing but the pounding of his heart. Then there came a low hum from the distance, which might or might not be the sound of an approaching train. Kid remembered that if you laid your ear to a rail you could hear a train a long way off. He tried it, listening only for a moment. Then he was on his feet, tossing his ulster to the side of the road and wriggling out of his jacket. The jacket went on top of the ulster. Then off came the old frayed red sweater and at that very instant there was a screech down the track and the train, with a white billow of steam over the engine, slid into sight. Kid seized the sweater by the arms and sped down the center of the track, waving it vigorously. [On came the train, nearer and nearer], and the rails rang with the clangor of its wheels. Kid stopped running and sought a place of safety at the side of the road. But he still waved the sweater, wondering why the train didn’t stop. And then, just when he was sure that his warning was wasted and that the passengers in the cars were going to have an awful bump, the engine whistle stabbed the air with short shrieks, there came a terrific grinding and squeaking of brakes and the train came to a stop, the couplings jarring, with the engine almost in front of Kid.

[“On came the train, nearer and nearer.”]

“What’s the matter, kid?”

A man with his body half out of the cab window and another standing where you climbed into the engine were both asking at once, and Kid, wondering how they knew his name, and feeling withal not a little important, pointed ahead toward the cut.

“There’s a lot of dirt on the rail up there,” he stammered, being very much out of breath and a little embarrassed, “and I thought maybe you wouldn’t see it in time to stop.”

The conductor, who had run up, seized Kid by the arm and swung him around. As Kid had not heard the approach of this formidable-looking man in blue uniform and brass buttons he was both surprised and confused.