Little Jack came over, saw the dummy, and asked what it was for. Tommy was loath to acknowledge his defeat, and now a new idea came into his head. “We’ll stan’ that dummy at d’ end of d’ bridge, hang a white light on his arm an’ let d’ Midnight Express go by while we sleep, eh! Jack, old boy?” Jack smiled. “An’ say, Jack! d’ you know we can give d’ dummy a lamp fur d’ Midnight Express an’ a flag for the White Mail in d’ morning an’ sleep till sun up.” “An’ the red light,” Jack began, “how we goin’ t’ fix that, Tommy? S’posen the dummy wants a red light?” “Thatso,” said Tommy. “An’ say, Jack,” he added quickly, “s’pose d’ bridge ketch afire, is d’ dummy gun to put it out? Jimminy!” and with that Tommy made a run at his dummy, hit him a kick in the ribs, dragged him to the bank, and without more ado sent him down to a watery grave. “That’s a good lesson for you, Mr. Jack Connor,” said Tommy, taking the whip and climbing up on the platform. “Do yer work yerself an’ hold yer job, an’ don’t depend on d’ Union. They’s too much machinery already in th’ worl’. U. P. says the inventor’s robbin’ d’ workin’ man. Here we’ve both got good jobs an’ we’re tryin’ to make a dummy watch a bridge.” Jack was thoroughly shamed. “Aint you got sense nuff to know, Jack Connor, that if a dummy’d do, the company’d have a dummy ’stead o’ payin’ you forty dollars a month to stay here?” Jack nodded his head. “S’pose you made a dummy an’ it done d’ work, long comes Mr. Roadmaster, sees d’ dummy, says ‘that’s a good thing,’ an’ you git d’ bounce. No, sir, when a fellow’s got a job he wants to hold it, an’ not go sawin’ it off on an effigy, same as soldiers ’at’s grafted in d’ war an’s afraid to fight. There’s a good lesson fur you, Mr. Jack,” added Tommy: “Hold yer job an’ don’t bank on d’ Union or a dummy;” and with this advice Tommy cracked the mule up and subsided, with a countenance fixed and resolute. CHAPTER VIII LITTLE JACK’S PROMOTION “I DON’T care a tinker’s dime about Denis McGuire,“ said the agent, angrily, “but something must be done for little Jack. He’s having malaria. Winter will be coming on and he can’t stand a winter in that shanty.” “I can take Jack in my office to carry dispatches,” said the roadmaster; “but who can I put on the bridge to watch it as that boy does?” “There you are,” replied the agent, sarcastically. “Because the boy is faithful, you would keep him there until he dies and leaves his mother utterly helpless. But,” he added quickly--for he was a good stayer when he elected to stay--“since you ask my advice, I’ll tell you: Put Denis McGuire on the bridge--he’s a cripple for life; crippled in the service of this company.” “I’ve told ye,” said the roadmaster, “that Denis McGuire was barred from workin’ fur the Vandalia phile I’m here.” The agent wore a look of disgust, as he turned to answer a call.