Part 3 (1/2)
The racing hoofs drew nearer, and placing his hands to his mouth he cried: ”h.e.l.lo! What's up?”
There was a sound of scrambling and plunging, and out of the darkness came a man's excited voice: ”How near am I to the station?”
”Right here below you!”
”Thank G.o.d! Run quick and tell the operator there has been a landslip in the big cutting just beyond the river! My son discovered it when coming home by the track from a party! I thought I could get here quicker than do anything else!”
For a moment Alex stood speechless at this further calamity, then once more dashed for the station. To reach Zeisler, two miles west of the cut, was the only hope for the Mail.
Rus.h.i.+ng in to the instruments, he in feverish haste began calling ”Z. Z, Z,” he whirled. ”Qk! Z, Z, WS!”
There was no answer. Z heard him no more than did the despatcher.
A feeling of despair settled upon the boy. But again returned the old spirit of determination and contriving, and spinning about in his chair, he cast his eyes around the room for some suggestion. They halted at the big stoneware water-cooler. With a cry he was on his feet, thinking rapidly.
Only a few hours before, during an idle moment, the similarity of the big jar to a gravity cell had occurred to him, and the speculation as to whether it could not be turned into a battery if need be.
Could he really make a battery of it? If he could, undoubtedly it would be strong enough to so increase the current in the wire that both Zeisler and the despatcher could hear him.
He ran to a little storage closet at the rear of the room. Yes; there was enough bluestone! But no copper, or zinc! What could he do for that?
As though directed by Providence, his gaze fell on the floor-board of the office stove. It was covered with a sheet of zinc! And even as he uttered a glad ”Good!” there came the remembrance that at the house that afternoon he had seen a fine new wash-boiler--with a thick copper bottom.
”That's it,” cried Alex, again catching up the lantern and darting for the door.
A short distance from the depot Alex was halted by a long, m.u.f.fled whistle from the east. ”The Express,” he exclaimed, and in keen anxiety awaited the next whistle. Would it be for the crossing this side of the bonfire, or--
It came, a series of quick, sharp toots. Yes; they had seen the fire!
”Thank Heaven! She's safe at any rate,” said Alex, at once running on.
A few minutes later he burst into Mrs. Moore's kitchen. The farmer's wife was at the stove, preparing coffee for them.
”Mrs. Moore, where is your new copper-bottomed boiler? I must have it, quick,” said Alex.
”What! My new wash-boiler?”
”Yes; the copper-bottomed one. It's a matter of life and death!”
The astonished woman hesitated, then, wonderingly, pointed toward the outer kitchen. Alex ran thither, and quickly reappeared with the fine new boiler on his shoulder.
”And I must have that kettle of boiling water,” he added, on a thought.
”I'll explain later.” And catching it from the stove, he rushed away.
As he ran Alex further thought out his plans, and once more at the station, he placed the kettle on the office stove, emptied the bluestone into it, and poked up the fire.
Then, with a hammer and chisel, he attacked the copper bottom of the boiler.
He was still pounding and cutting when presently there was the sound of hurried footsteps without, the door flew open, and a voice exclaimed: ”In Heaven's name, young man, what are you doing? Why are you not at your wire, trying to stop the other train?”