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Updated: May 22, 2025
He was laid on a canvas tarpaulin brought by the yard-master and spread on the chip-strewn ground, while the doctors from two ambulances worked over him. While they were examining his wounds he took a critical and quizzical interest in what they were doing, and offered one or two humorous suggestions.
Being earnest, brave, and industrious, he learned rapidly, and in a few months found himself in charge of a little wooden way-station as agent, operator, yard-master, and everything else. It was lonely, but there was no night work.
George went over to Jim Milton, and after doing all he could see to do and ordering Milton to do several things he thought might be done, he said casually: "Of course I am BOSS around this shack, but this is new to me. You fellows will have to tell me what to do until I get my bearings. As soon as we get to running, I'll be yard-master, and manage the selling and shipping.
I was foreman in the yards at Buffalo, had a scrap with the yard-master who had boasted that he would not have a switchman he couldn't curse, an' got fired." "Did you lick him?" "Yes." "Good and plenty?" "Yes." "Go on with your story." "Well," said the man, seating himself in the door of the car, "I started out to get work had my card from the Union and felt sure of success.
I climbed to a yard-master's tower above the Spillway and the yard-master, taking up his powerful field-glasses, swept the horizon, or rather the dam, and discovered the engine for me as a mariner discovers an island at sea.
After this he was hurried to the freight-house, where he saw the yard-master, a smallish, white-faced man in shirt, trousers, and slippers, looking down upon a sea of trucks, a mob of bawling truckmen, and squadrons of backing, turning, sweating, spark-striking horses. "That's shippers' carts loadin' on to the receivin' trucks," said the small engine, reverently. "But he don't care.
Bales, crates, boxes, jars, carboys, frails, cases, and packages flew into them from the freight-house as though the cars had been magnets and they iron filings. "Ki-yah!" shrieked little Poney. "Ain't it great?" A purple-faced truckman shouldered his way to the yard-master, and shook his fist under his nose. The yard-master never looked up from his bundle of freight receipts.
Cut 'em off at the junction. An' that's all right. Pull that string." The yard-master, with mild blue eyes, looked out over the howling truckmen at the waters in the moonlight beyond, and hummed: "All things bright and beautiful, All creatures great and small, All things wise and wonderful, The Lawd Gawd He made all!" .007 moved out the cars and delivered them to the regular road-engine.
That's where my short wheel-base comes in. Like as not you'd have your tender scraped off if you tried it." .007 had no ambitions that way, and said so. "No? Of course this ain't your regular business, but say, don't you think it's interestin'? Have you seen the yard-master? Well, he's the greatest man on earth, an' don't you forget it. When are we through?
There's a Yard-Master over there. Go ask him." "Blazes and brimstone," exploded the Yard-Master; "how in the devil's name do you suppose I can tell anything about the trains going out?
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