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Updated: May 22, 2025
The shuttle plane from the port of Philadelphia to Hospital Seattle had already gone when Dal Timgar arrived at the loading platform, even though he had taken great pains to be at least thirty minutes early for the boarding. "You'll just have to wait for the next one," the clerk at the dispatcher's desk told him unsympathetically. "There's nothing else you can do." "But I can't wait," Dal said.
O'Malley was leading through an open freight hatch; Chet followed, and, at his beckoning hand, slipped into a dingy cabin. "Lay low there," the pilot ordered, and still, as Chet observed, his speech showed how clearly the man was thinking, since the emergency still existed "I've cleared some time ago, Mr. Bullard; we're ready to leave as soon as we get the dispatcher's O.K."
Like one bereft I ran back into the telegraph office, and began to call the dispatcher's office. There was one more chance of saving the express if it was in danger, and that was by asking if an order had been sent to hold it for a crossing.
There was the ring of command sounding through the clamor of desperate and dubious conflict in his voice. "Give me the L. & G. W. dispatcher's office, quick!" said he. "I can't remember the number ... it's 420, four, two, naught. Is this Agnew? This is Elkins talking. Listen!
He had the heart of a fighter, and grit to the last tissue; but he needed it all now needed it all to stand the pain and fight the weakness that kept swirling over him in flashes. On he went, on his hands and knees, slithering from tie to tie and from one tie to the next was a great distance. The life and death, the dispatcher's call he seemed to hear it yet throbbing, throbbing on the wire.
With the express messenger and a brakeman carrying Toddles, Kelly kicked in the station door, and set his lamp down on the operator's table. "Hold me up," whispered Toddles and, while they held him, he made the dispatcher's call. Big Cloud answered him on the instant.
When Toddles came to himself again, he thought at first that he was up in the dispatcher's room at Big Cloud with Bob Donkin pounding away on the battered old key they used to practice with only there seemed to be something the matter with the key, and it didn't sound as loud as it usually did it seemed to come from a long way off somehow.
"What's your name Toddles?" inquired Donkin, as Toddles halted before the dispatcher's table. Toddles froze instantly hard. His fists doubled; there was a smile on Donkin's face. Then his fists slowly uncurled; the smile on Donkin's face had broadened, but there wasn't any malice in the smile. "Christopher Hyslop Hoogan," said Toddles, unbending.
He was in the dispatcher's office, and I'd hear him holler in his nightmares, 'There they go! Bang! Everybody killed! I always expected it! "You see, he lived in fear of running two excursion trains together. Nervous cuss oh, awful! Not without reason, neither. Seems when he was at college he studied chemistry. Always experimentin'. Mixed two things that was born to live apart.
Donkin went at it as earnestly as Toddles did and Toddles was in deadly earnest. When Toddles left the dispatcher's office that morning with Donkin's promise to teach him the key, Toddles had a hazy idea that Donkin had wings concealed somewhere under his coat and was an angel in disguise; and at the end of two weeks he was sure of it. But at the end of a month Bob Donkin was a god!
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