“Well, there’s only Perkins on the yard-engine and Hard Luck just in on Scott’s work-train—might double him out again—that’s all.”
The dispatcher rushed into the adjoining room to consult the superintendent.
It was in the midst of the busiest season, and every available engineer was out upon the road.
“Hard Luck? nonsense!” said the superintendent when he was informed of the situation. “Tell Pearson he must take the special out—this is a nice time for him to get sick!”
The roundhouse was notified, and replied that Pearson was “foamin’ awful—his wife’s got him jacked up and two doctors workin’ on him,” yelled the foreman.
“This is terrible! terrible!” groaned the superintendent. “Perkins is only a boy, we can’t put him on, and Hosselkus will never get over the division without something happening—never in the world!” and the perspiration started upon his forehead. The whistle of the special aroused him to the necessity of immediate action.
“Tell them to put Hosselkus on, and get him out as quick as possible—we are in the hands of Providence anyway, I suppose,” he added to himself.
All was hurry and excitement when the special pulled in. The engine that brought it in was cut off and hurried out of the way, while the huge, well-groomed “Three-Sevens” backed slowly down in charge of Hosselkus, whose heart swelled chokingly as the brazen clangor of her bell pealed out.
But the beginning was ominous. The engine was unfamiliar to him and worked more stiffly than he had expected, so that when he backed down to be coupled on, he struck the train with a momentum that jarred its occupants uncomfortably.
“Lord! Lord!” moaned the superintendent as he wiped his clammy brow and sought to divert the directors’ attention from the mishap by suggesting some needed improvements in the “Company’s” water supply.