Part 4 (1/2)
And then, while the crowd about him relieved its pent-up feelings in wild shouts and hurrahs, Alex quickly sent the order to stop the train.
”And now three good cheers for the little operator,” said one of the pa.s.sengers as Alex closed his key. In confusion Alex drew back in his chair, then suddenly recollecting the others who had taken part in the night's work, he told the superintendent of the part played by Mr. Moore and his sons, and of the sacrifice of Mrs. Moore's new wash-boiler.
”And then there was the man on the horse, who told us of the slide in the cut across the river. He was the real one to save the Mail,” said Alex, modestly.
”I see you are as fair as you are ingenious,” said the superintendent, smiling. ”We'll look after them all, you may be sure. By the first express Mrs. Moore shall have two, instead of one, of the finest boilers money can buy. And as for you, my boy, I'll see that you are given a permanent station within a year, if you wish to take it. We need resourceful operators like you.”
III
A TINKER WHO MADE GOOD
Most telegraph operators, young operators especially, have a number of over-the-wire friends. Alex Ward's particular telegraph chum was Jack Orr, or ”OR,” as he knew him on the wire, a lad of just his own age, son of the proprietor of the drug-store in which the town, or commercial, office was located at Haddowville, a small place at the end of the line.
The two boys had become warm friends through ”sending” for one another's improvement in ”reading,” in the evenings when the wire was idle; but also because of the similarities of taste they had discovered. Both were fond of experimenting, and learning the ”why and wherefore” of things electrical.
And not infrequently they got themselves into trouble, as young investigators will.
One evening that summer, the instruments being silent, Jack, at Haddowville, bethought himself of taking the relay, the main receiving instrument, to pieces, to discover exactly how the wire connections in the base were arranged. To think with Jack was to act. Half an hour later his father, entering with an important message, found Jack with the instrument in a dozen pieces.
Mr. Orr viewed the muss with consternation. Then he spoke sharply. ”Jack, if that relay is not together again, and working, in five minutes, I'll take you out to the woodshed!” Needless to say, Jack threw himself into the restoring of the instrument with ardor, while his father stood grimly by. And fortunately the relay was in its place again, and clicking, within the prescribed time.
”But don't let me ever catch you tinkering with the instruments again,”
said Jack's father warningly, as he gave Jack the message to send.
”Another time it'll be the woodshed whether you get them together or no.
Remember!”
Shortly after midnight the night following Jack suddenly found himself sitting up in bed, wondering what had awakened him. From the street below came the sound of running feet, simultaneously the window lighted with a yellow glare, and with a bound and an exclamation of ”Fire!” Jack was across the room and peering out.
”Jones' coal sheds! Or the station!” he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, and in a moment was back at the bedside, dressing as only a boy can dress for a fire. Running to his parents' bedroom he told them of his going, and was down the stairs and out into the street in a trice.
Dim figures of men and other boys were hurrying by in the direction of the town fire-hall, a block distant, and on the run Jack also headed thither. For to help pull the fire-engine or hose-cart to a fire was the ardent hobby of every lad in town.
A half dozen members of the volunteer fire company and as many boys were at the doors when Jack arrived, and the fire chief, already equipped with helmet and speaking-trumpet, was fumbling at the lock.
”Where is it, Billy?” inquired Jack of a boy acquaintance.
”They say it's the station and freight shed, and Johnson's lumber yard, and the coal sheds--the whole shooting match,” said Billy, hopefully.
”Bully!” responded Jack; who, never having seen his own home in flames, likewise regarded fires as the most thrilling sort of entertainment.
”Out of the way!” cried the chief. The big doors swung open, and with a rush the little crowd divided and went at the old-fas.h.i.+oned hand-engine and the hose-cart. Billy and Jack secured the particular prize, the head of the engine drag-rope, and like a pair of young colts pranced out with it to its full length. Others seized it, and with the cry of ”Let 'er go!” they went rumbling forth, and swung up the street.
The hose-cart, with its automatic gong, clanged out immediately after, and the race that always occurred was on. The engine of course had the start, but the hose-cart, a huge two-wheeled reel, about which the hose was wound, was much lighter, and speedily was clanging abreast of them.
Here, however, Big Ed. Hicks, the blacksmith, and Nick White, a colored giant, rushed up, dodged beneath the rope, and took their accustomed places at the tongue, and with a burst of speed the engine began to draw ahead. Other firemen appeared from side streets and banging doorways, and took their places on the rope, and a shout from the juvenile contingent presently announced that the reel was falling to the rear.
Meanwhile the glare in the sky had brightened and spread; and when at last the rumbling engine swung into the station road the whole sky was ablaze. Overhead, before a stiff wind, large embers and sparks were beginning to fly.