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S , a young Irishman, of Meagher's Brigade, a fire-boy and a gymnast, was surrounded by a knot of his fellows, and they were making good progress in driving back the Georgia regiment, when the Captain encountered the Major of the Georgians.
"Johnny, try that cab bell," he shouted, and the fire-boy sounded the big brass gong. "Why didn't you take it at Pee-Wee?" asked the old man, holding his temper beautifully. The driver lifted his torch and stared almost rudely into the face of the official in front of him. "Why, Mr. Skidum," said he slowly, "I didn't hear no signal." The superintendent was blocked.
As he turned and followed the conductor into the telegraph office, the driver, gloating in his high tower of a cab, watched him. "He's an old darling," said he to the fire-boy, "and I'm ready to die for him any day; but I can't stop for him in the face of bulletin 13. Thirty days for the first offence, and then fire," he quoted, as he opened the throttle and steamed away, four minutes late.
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