Snow on the headlight : $b a story of the great Burlington strikeWarman, Cy
General
Snow on the headlight : $b a story of the great Burlington strike
Warman, Cy
Burlington Strike, 1888 -- Fiction; Strikes and lockouts -- Fiction
Mrs. Cowels smiled and kissed him, and then she cried a little, but only
a little, for in spite of all her troubles she felt almost happy that
night.
It was nearly midnight when Bennie finished trying on his overclothes
and finally fell asleep. It was only four A. M. when he shook his mother
gently and asked her to get up and get breakfast.
"What time is it, Bennie?"
"I don't know, exactly," said Bennie, "but it must be late. I've been up
a long, long time. You know you have to put up my lunch, and I want to
get down and draw my supplies. Couldn't do it last night 'cause they
didn't know what engine we were going to have."
Mrs. Cowels got up and prepared breakfast and Bennie ate hurriedly and
then began to look out for the caller. He would have gone to the
round-house at once but he wanted to sign the callbook at home. How he
had envied the firemen who had been called by him. He knew just how it
would be written in the callbook:
_Extra West, Eng.--Leave 8:15 A. M._
_Engineer Moran,--D. Moran 7:15._
_Fireman Cowels._--
And there was the blank space where he would write his name. At six
o'clock he declared to his mother that he must go down and get his
engine hot, and after a hasty good-bye he started. Ten minutes later he
came into the round-house and asked the night foreman where his engine
was.
"Well," said the foreman, "we haven't got _your_ engine yet," and the
boy's chin dropped down and rested upon his new blue blouse. "I guess
we'll have to send you out on one of the company's engines this trip."
There was a great roar of laughter from the wiping gang and Bennie
looked embarrassed. He concluded to say no more to the foreman, but went
directly to the blackboard, got the number and found the engine which
had been assigned to the gravel train because she was not fit for road
work. A sorry old wreck she was, covered with ashes and grease, but it
made little difference to Bennie so long as she had a whistle and a
bell, and he set to work to stock her up with supplies.
He had drawn supplies for many a tired fireman in his leisure moments
and knew very nearly what was needed. But the first thing he did was to
open the blower and "get her hot." He got the foreman hot, too, and in a
little while he heard that official shout to the hostler to "run the
scrap heap out-doors, and put that fresh kid in the tank."
Bennie didn't mind the reference to the "fresh kid," but he thought the
foreman might have called her something better than a scrap heap, but he
was a smart boy and knew that it would be no use to "kick."
It was half-past seven when Mrs. Cowels opened the door in answer to the
bell, and blushed, and glanced down at her big apron.
"I thought I'd look in on my way to the round-house," said Moran,
removing his hat, "for Bennie."
"Why, the dear boy has been gone an hour and a half, but I'm glad (won't
you come in?) you called for he has forgotten his gloves."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account