Hiram promised. At 2 p.m., when the Empire State Express was due in two minutes, he dropped the crossing gates and stood by with the white flag to wave her along. Three minutes passed, four, five—and still no train. As a matter of fact, she had lost half an hour at an open draw on the Harlem River in the morning, and was laboring mightily to regain lost time in spite of her fast schedule.
Seven minutes late, and then Hiram heard a wild shriek a mile away and saw the express coming. He darted into the shanty, grabbed a red flag, and leaped out upon the track, waving it furiously. The engineer shut off, threw over the reverse lever, gave her sand and the air; and the mighty train stopped short, in a whirl of sand, cinders, and sparks, brakes creaking and passengers pitchpoling everywhere.
“What’s the matter now?” roared the engineer, thrusting half his body out of the cab and glaring down at Hiram.
“Be yeou th’ ingineer?” asked the flagman, peering at him with suspicion.
“Yes, yes! Whad-do-you want?”
“I want t’ know whut’s made ye so goldinged late? Cassidy says he wun’t stand f’r it.”
During a match at St. Andrews, Scotland, a rustic was struck in the eye accidentally by a golf ball. Running up to his assailant, he yelled:
“This’ll cost ye five pounds—five pounds!”
“But I called out ‘fore’ as loudly as I could,” explained the golfer.