"Of course, there's an unpleasant side of it. I don't want to seem to
draw it too rosy. I imagine you've heard Blackburn's story, haven't
you--the lap-order at Rosebud? I helped carry Blackburn out of that
room"--Duffy pointed very coldly toward Morris Blood's door--"the
morning we put him in his coffin. But, hang it, Bud, a death like that
is better than going to the insane asylum, isn't it, eh? A short trick
and a merry one, my boy, for a despatcher, say I; no insane asylum for
me."
It calmed Budwiser, as the boys began to call him, for a time only. He
renewed his application and was at length relieved of his comfortable
station and ordered into the Wickiup as despatcher's assistant.
For a time every dream was realized--the work was put on him by
degrees, things ran smoothly, and his despatcher, Garry O'Neill, soon
reported him all right. A month later Bud was notified that a
despatcher's trick would shortly be assigned to him, and to the boys
from the branch who asked after him he sent word that in a few days he
would be showing them how to do business on the main line.
The chance came even sooner. O'Neill went hunting the following day,
overslept, came down without supper and could not get a quiet minute
till long after midnight. Heavy stock trains crowded down over the
short line. The main line, in addition to the regular traffic, had
been pounded all night with government stores and ammunition,
westbound. From the coast a passenger special, looked for in the
afternoon, had just come into the division at Bear Dance. Garry laid
out his sheet with the precision of a campaigner, provided for
everything, and at three o'clock he gave Bud a transfer and ran down to
get a cup of coffee. Bud sat into the chair for the first time with
the responsibility of a full-fledged despatcher.
For five minutes no business confronted him, then from the extreme end
of his territory Cambridge station called for orders for an extra, fast
freight, west, Engine 81, and Bud wrote his first train order. He
ordered Extra 81 to meet Number 50, a local and accommodation, at
Sumter, and signed Morris Blood's initials with a flourish. When the
trains had gone he looked over his sheet calmly until he noticed, with
fainting horror, that he had forgotten Special 833, east, making a very
fast run and headed for Cambridge, with no orders about Extra 81.
Special 833 was the passenger train from the coast.
The sheet swam and the yellow lamp at his elbow turned green and black.
The door of the operator's room opened with a bang. Bud, trembling,
hoped it might be O'Neill, and staggered to the archway. It was only
Glover, but Glover saw the boy's face. "What's the matter?"