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The train-dispatcher came running over to the engine, and doffed his cap to Andrews. "It ain't none of my business," he said, with supreme indifference to any rules of grammar, "but they say Mitchell is almost at Chattanooga and you'll never get through to Corinth." Andrews assumed an air of contemptuous superiority.
There were certainly plenty of cars in evidence on the sidings; indeed, the station, which was the junction for a branch line running to Rome, Georgia, presented a bustling appearance. No sooner was "The General" motionless than a train-dispatcher emerged from a gathering of idlers on the platform and walked up to the locomotive. He held in his hand a telegraphic blank.
"I happen to know more of General Mitchell's movements than you do," he said, "And, what's more, no Confederate officer takes orders from a railroad employee." "I didn't mean any offense," answered the train-dispatcher. "Then go back and see that the switches are ready for me to move on the instant the next freight gets here," ordered the leader. The young man walked away, with a nod of assent.
At length, about ten o'clock, through Freight Number 73, to which car number 1160 was attached, received its "clearance," or order to start, from the train-dispatcher, and began to move heavily out from the yard, on to the main west-bound track.
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