The change in the cocksure attitude of John Steele was so sudden and complete that it brought a faint smile of gratification to the gaunt face of the station-master.
“Great heavens!” whispered the crestfallen young man, “why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“Well, you’ve been kind of monopolising the conversation, and I haven’t had much chance to speak up to now. One would suppose that if a man had a thinking-machine in his head at all, he would know that the little road couldn’t connect with a train that never stopped here.”
“Of course, of course,” said John hurriedly, his mind running on the language he had used in the first moments of chagrin at finding himself marooned at this desolate junction, which might have been heard by the unseen lady in the waiting-room. He hoped his voice hadn’t carried through the pine wall.
“Well, station-master, I apologise. And now, if you will kindly tell me what the Farmers’ Road does connect with, I’ll be very much obliged.”
“The Farmers’ Road runs two trains a day,” said the station-master sententiously, as if he were speaking of some mighty empire. “The train consists, as you see, of a locomotive and a mixed car. The first train comes in here at nine o’clock in the morning, connecting with the local going east. It then returns to Bunkerville, and reaches here in the afternoon at three o’clock, to connect with the local going west. That little train doesn’t know there are any flyers on our line; all it knows is that the eastern local comes in somewhere about nine o’clock in the morning, and the western local arrives anywhere between three and five in the afternoon. So a Chicago man can’t step jauntily off the express he has managed to stop, and expect to get a train to Bunkerville whenever he chooses.”
“Admirably stated,” said John Steele. “And if you will condescend further to enlighten a beclouded intellect would you mind explaining what the deuce the little train is doing here at this hour? If I follow your argument, it should have returned to Bunkerville after the nine o’clock local came in, arriving here again just before three o’clock.”
“Your befogged brain is waking up,” said the station-master encouragingly. “The phenomenon to which you have called attention happens once or twice a week. If you cast your eye to the other end of the platform, you will see piled there an accumulation of miscellaneous freight. The Farmers’ Road has just dumped that upon us, and to do so has taken a special trip. That stuff will go east on Number Eight, which is a freight train that will stop here some time in the afternoon when it sees the signal set against it.”
“I comprehend,” said Steele; “and I venture on my next proposition with great diffidence, caused by increasing admiration of yourself and the lucid mind you bring to bear on Western railway procedure. If I have followed your line of argument as unerringly as the farmers’ train follows the Farmers’ Road, his nibs the engineer must take the train back to Bunkerville so that he may return here on his regular trip to meet the three o’ clock western local. If I am right, what is to prevent him from going now, taking me with him, and giving me an opportunity at Bunkerville to transact my business and catch the regular train back?—for I am going further west, and would like to intercept the local, which would save me spending an unnecessary night at Bunkerville, and wasting most of to-morrow as well.”
“The reasons are as follows: His nibs, as you call him, is engineer, conductor, brakeman, and freight handler. When he came in, he had to carry that freight from his car to the platform where you see it. That takes time, even if the day were not so oppressively hot as it is. So, instead of keeping up his fire under the boiler, and burning useless coal, he banks the furnace as soon as he arrives. Then, at his leisure, he removes the boxes to the platform. If he returned to Bunkerville, they would give him something to do there; here he is out of reach; besides, he would have to draw his fires and start anew about two o’clock, and that he doesn’t want to do. He has, therefore, curled himself up in the passenger car, put a newspaper over his face to keep off the flies, and has gone to sleep. When the proper moment arrives he will stir up his fire, go to Bunkerville, and then be ready to make the return trip on one expenditure of coal. Now do you understand?”