ed to stretch our
little resources to the uttermost.

I studied a minute, then turned to the dispatcher.

"Tell Norman to send them out as second 4; that gives the right of way
over every wheel against them. If they can't make it on that kind of
schedule, it isn't in the track."

It was extraordinary business, rather, sending a train of wheat through
on a passenger schedule, practically, as the second section of our
east-bound flyer; but we took hair-lifting chances on the plains.

It was noon when the orders were flashed. At three o'clock No. 4 was due
to leave Zanesville. For three hours I kept the wires busy warning all
operators and trainmen, even switch-engines and yard-masters, of the
wheat special--second 4.

The Flyer, the first section and regular passenger-train, was checked
out of Zanesville on time. Second 4, which meant Georgie McNeal, Dad,
the Sky-Scraper, and fifty loads of wheat, reported out at 3.10. While
we worked on our time-card, Neighbor, in the dispatcher's office across
the hall, figured out that the wheat-train would enrich the company just
eleven thousand dollars, tolls and premium. "If it doesn't break in two
on Beverly Hill," growled Neighbor, with a qualm.

On the dispatcher's sheet, which is a sort of panorama, I watched the
big train whirl past station after station, drawing steadily nearer to
us, and doing it, the marvel, on full passenger time. It was a great
feat, and Georgie McNeal, whose nerve and brain were guiding the
tremendous load, was breaking records with every mile-stone.

They were due in Harvard at nine o'clock. The first 4, our Flyer,
pulled in and out on time, meeting 55, the west-bound overland freight,
at the second station east of Harvard--Redbud.

Neighbor and I sat with the dispatchers, up in their office, smoking.
The wheat-train was now due from the west, and, looking at my watch, I
stepped to the western window. Almost immediately I heard the long
peculiarly hollow blast of the Sky-Scraper whistling for the upper yard.

"She's coming," I exclaimed.

The boys crowded to the window; but Neighbor happened to glance to the
east.

"What's that coming in from the junction, Bailey?" he exclaimed, turning
to the local dispatcher. We looked and saw a headlight in the east.

"That's 55."

"Where do they meet?"

"55 takes the long siding in from the junction"--which was two miles
east--"and she ought to be on it right now," added the dispatcher,
anxiously, l