So the men gather there and express their opinions of the dispatchers at the top of the voice--opinions, which, however they may differ in minor details, are always the reverse of complimentary. For the dispatchers are the drivers; they crack the whip over the heads of the trainmen by means of terse and peremptory telegraphic orders, which there is no answering, and which no one dares disobey; and the driver, however well-meaning, is seldom popular with the driven. Such is the station and division headquarters at Wadsworth: unworthy alike as the one and the other. The whole effect of the building is of an indescribable, sordid dinginess; it is a striking example of that type of railroad economy which forbids the expenditure of money for the comfort and convenience of its patrons and employees--a type which, happily, is fast passing away. * * * * * On a certain bright spring morning--bright, that is, until one passed beneath the cloud of smoke which hung perpetually above the yards at Wadsworth--a boy of about eighteen joined the procession which was toiling up the stair to the division offices, and, after hesitating an instant at the foot, as though to nerve himself for an ordeal which he dreaded, mounted resolutely step after step. As he pushed open the swinging-door at the top, the clamour of half a dozen telegraph instruments greeted his ears. He glanced through the open window of the dispatchers' office as he passed it, pushed his way through a group of men gathered before the bulletin-board, and, after an instant's hesitation, turned into an open doorway just beyond. There were two men in the room, seated on either side of a great desk which stood between the windows looking down over the yards. They glanced up at the sound of his step, and one of them sprang to his feet with a quick exclamation of welcome. "Why, how are you, Allan!" he cried, holding out his hand. "I'm mighty glad to see you. So you're ready to report for duty, are you?" "Yes, sir," answered the boy, smiling into the genial gray eyes, and returning the warm handclasp, "I'm all right again." "You're a little pale yet, and a little thin," said the trainmaster, looking him over critically; "but that won't last long. George," he added, turning to his companion, "this is Allan West, who saved the pay-car from that gang of wreckers last Christmas Eve." "Is it?" and the chief-dispatcher held out his hand and shook the boy's heartily. "I'm glad to know you. Mr. Schofield has told us the story of that night until we know it by heart. All the boys will be glad to meet you." The boy blushed with pleasure. "Thank you," he said. "Allan's to take a job here as office-boy," added Mr. Schofield. "When will you be ready to go to work?" "Right away, sir."