“Oh, Johnny, Johnny, my boy, my boy! Didn’t I always want you to keep away from them awful trains? Don’t take my Johnny to the hospital. I’ll nurse him—indeed, indeed, good gentlemen, I can nurse my Johnny better than anyone.” Then the subtle woman rose up in her. “Is his face hurted? Will he be disfigured? No, thank God! Oh, but he was a pretty boy.”
“How did it happen?” I enquired.
“Freight train ahead of us lost her grip on a grade. The brakes wouldn’t hold and she broke away and run back and we pitched into her.”
“I suppose your engineer stuck to his place?”
The train hand smiled a superior smile.
“You bet he did; catch Bill leaving his post while there is any show to do anything.”
One man had his leg broken, another had his breast crushed, the engineer had sustained fatal internal injuries, and Johnny had his shoulder crushed. These things don’t bother railway men much. In a few months after all hands, with the exception of the engineer, were back at their work again as devoid of fear and careless of consequences as ever.
CONDUCTORS’ EXPERIENCES.
“There is a sameness about our lives which makes it monotonous,” said Conductor B—as he lit a cigar and reflectively tossed the match into the gutter.
“Yes, but you have a variety, surely.”