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Updated: May 1, 2025
Wacker by this time had sunk flat on the bumpers, his limbs twisted up under him, but he managed to hold on to the brake rod. He only moaned and writhed when the horrified watchman spoke to him. "I'll have to get help," said the latter. "They will have to switch off the front freights to get him loose." The watchman took out his whistle and blew a kind of a call on the telegraphic system.
Lem Wacker lay with his foot bandaged up, conscious, and in no intense pain, for the surgeon had given him some deadening medicine. "He belongs at the hospital," the surgeon advised Bart. "That foot will have to come off." "As bad as that!" murmured Bart. "Yes. I will telephone for the ambulance when I leave here." "Very well," acquiesced Bart. "Can I speak with the patient?"
Christmas came up to him timorously, sniffed all about his feet, and suddenly wagged its tail and put its feet up on him in a friendly manifestation of delight. Its keen sense of scent had apparently recognized that Bart had been a visitor to the Wacker home that day.
Every Washington's Birthday and Fourth of July since, this site had been the center of all public patriotic festivities, and the headquarters for celebrating for juvenile Pleasantville. Bart was a little startled as he comprehended what was in the wind. He thrilled a trifle; his eyes sparkled brightly. "It's all right, Stirling," assured Dale Wacker.
The occupants of the vehicle were Colonel Jeptha Harrington and Lem Wacker. The little express office was dark and lonely-looking when Bart again reached it. Bart unlocked the office door, shot the inside bolt carefully after him, lighted the lantern, placed it on the desk, and opened the safe.
Wacker very much on private business." When did he leave home? "Last night at ten o'clock." "With his horse and wagon?" "Why, yes," admitted the woman, with a sudden, wondering glance at Bart. "How did you know that?" "I noticed the wagon wasn't in the shed." "Oh, he sold it and the horse." "When, Mrs. Wacker?" "Last night some men came here, two of them, about nine o'clock.
Bart backed down the steps, feeling secretly that Lem Wacker would have a hard time disproving a connection with the burglary. "Take care of the dog!" warned Mrs. Wacker as she closed the door. Bart, passing a battered dog-house, found it tenantless, however. "I wonder if Lem Wacker has sold the dog, too?" he reflected. "Poor Mrs. Wacker! I feel awfully sorry for her."
Lem Wacker is bad enough when at work," remarked Bart, "but out of work I fear he is a dangerous man. All right!" he called, hurrying to the door as there was a hail from outside. Colonel Harrington's buckboard was backed to the platform and its driver was unloading a large trunk.
My chavo's nav was Horfer or Horferus, but the bitti chavis penned him Wacker. Well, yeck divvus pre the wellgooro o' the graias prasters, my juvo dicked a boro doll adree some hev of a buttika and penned, 'Dovo odoi dicks just like moro Wacker! So we penned him Wackerdoll, but a'ter my juvo mullered I rakkered him Wacker again, because Wackerdoll pet mandy in cammoben o' my poor juvo."
"Next time I give that lazy, good-for-nothing Lem Wacker work he'll know it, I'm thinking! Look there and there!" The irate old railroader kicked over the wooden cuspidor in disgust. It was loaded to the top with tobacco and cigarette ends. Then he cast out half a dozen empty bottles through the open window, and went on with his grumbling.
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