The Night OperatorPackard, Frank L. (Frank Lucius)
General
The Night Operator
Packard, Frank L. (Frank Lucius)
Fiction; Railroad stories; Short stories
It came quick and unexpected, and Toddles stared for a moment. Then he
walked over to the window.
"I haven't got any," he said.
There wasn't any sound for an instant, save the clicking of the
instruments; then Donkin spoke again--a little gruffly:
"When are you going to quit making an ass of yourself?"
Toddles swung from the window, hurt. Donkin, after all, was like all
the rest of them.
"Well?" prompted the despatcher.
"You go to blazes!" said Toddles bitterly, and started for the door.
Donkin halted him.
"You're only fooling yourself, Hoogan," he said coolly. "If you wanted
what you call a real railroad job as much as you pretend you do, you'd
get one."
"Eh?" demanded Toddles defiantly; and went back to the table.
"A fellow," said Donkin, putting a little sting into his words, "never
got anywhere by going around with a chip on his shoulder fighting
everybody because they called him Toddles, and making a nuisance of
himself with the Big Fellows until they got sick of the sight of him."
It was a pretty stiff arraignment. Toddles choked over it, and the
angry blood flushed to his cheeks.
"That's all right for you!" he spluttered out hotly. "You don't look
too small for the train crews or the roundhouse, and they don't call
you Toddles so's nobody 'll forget it. What'd you do?"
"I'll tell you what I'd do," said Donkin quietly. "I'd make everybody
on the division wish their own name was Toddles before I was through
with them, and I'd _make_ a job for myself."
Toddles blinked helplessly.
"Getting right down to a cash fare," continued Donkin, after a moment,
as Toddles did not speak, "they're not so far wrong, either, about you
sizing up pretty small for the train crews or the roundhouse, are they?"
"No-o," admitted Toddles reluctantly; "but----"
"Then why not something where there's no handicap hanging over you?"
suggested the despatcher--and his hand reached out and touched the
sender. "The key, for instance?"
"But I don't know anything about it," said Toddles, still helplessly.
"That's just it," returned Donkin smoothly. "You never tried to learn."
Toddles' eyes widened, and into Toddles' heart leaped a sudden joy. A
new world seemed to open out before him in which aspirations,
ambitions, longings all were a reality. A key! That was real
railroading, the top-notch of railroading, too. First an operator, and
then a despatcher, and--and--and then his face fell, and the vision
faded.
"How'd I get a chance to learn?" he said miserably. "Who'd teach me?"
The smile was back on Donkin's face as he pushed his chair from the
table, stood up, and held out his hand--man-to-man fashion.
"I will," he said. "I liked your grit last night, Hoogan. And if you
want to be a railroad man, I'll make you one--before I'm through. I've
some old instruments you can have to practise with, and I've nothing to
do in my spare time. What do you say?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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