Toddles' eyes were on the light above his head. It blinked _red_ at him as he stood on the track facing it; the green rays were shooting up and down the line. He couldn't swing the switch--but the _lamp_ was there--and there was the red side to show just by turning it. He remembered then that the lamp fitted into a socket at the top of the switch stand, and could be lifted off--if he could reach it! It wasn't very high--for an ordinary-sized man--for an ordinary-sized man had to get at it to trim and fill it daily--only Toddles wasn't an ordinary-sized man. It was just nine or ten feet above the rails--just a standard siding switch. Toddles gritted his teeth, and climbed upon the base of the switch--and nearly fainted as his ankle swung against the rod. A foot above the base was a footrest for a man to stand on and reach up for the lamp, and Toddles drew himself up and got his foot on it--and then at his full height the tips of his fingers only just touched the bottom of the lamp. Toddles cried aloud, and the tears streamed down his face now. Oh, if he weren't hurt--if he could only shin up another foot--but--but it was all he could do to hang there where he was. _What was that_! He turned his head. Up the track, sweeping in a great circle as it swung the curve, a headlight's glare cut through the night--and Toddles "shinned" the foot. He tugged and tore at the lamp, tugged and tore at it, loosened it, lifted it from its socket, sprawled and wriggled with it to the ground--and turned the red side of the lamp against second Number Two. The quick, short blasts of a whistle answered, then the crunch and grind and scream of biting brake-shoes--and the big mountain racer, the 1012, pulling the second section of the Limited that night, stopped with its pilot nosing a diminutive figure in a torn and silver-buttoned uniform, whose hair was clotted red, and whose face was covered with blood and dirt. Masters, the engineer, and Pete Leroy, his fireman, swung from the gangways; Kelly, the conductor, came running up from the forward coach. Kelly shoved his lamp into Toddles' face--and whistled low under his breath. "Toddles!" he gasped; and then, quick as a steel trap: "What's wrong?" "I don't know," said Toddles weakly. "There's--there's something wrong. Get into the clear--on the siding." "Something wrong," repeated Kelly, "and you don't----" But Masters cut the conductor short with a grab at the other's arm that was like the shutting of a vise--and then bolted for his engine like a gopher for its hole. From, down the track came the heavy, grumbling roar of a freight. Everybody flew then, and there was quick work done in the next half minute--and none too quickly done--the Limited was no more than on the siding when the fast freight rolled her long string of flats, boxes and gondolas thundering by. And while she passed, Toddles, on the platform, stammered out his story to Kelly.