s and stood at the intersection of branches. At
this point the trunk line resolved itself from four tracks into two, and
here the gravel track, which looked as if it had been laid by a palsied
contractor, left the main line and respectability behind, and hobbled
out of sight behind the signal station with an intoxicated air. Beneath
the tower, to the right hand, a double-tracked branch tapped a fertile
country beyond the sand hills. And beneath the signal tower, to the
left, a single-tracked branch, only a mile long, brought South Sumach,
one of those tiresome towns that manufacture on water-power, in touch
with the middle man. This petty branch (as if the case had been with
petty people), made more trouble than all the rest of the lines put
together. The signal man found this out.

"So Sumach Junction had its place in the world, and, perhaps, it was a
more important one than that of many a complacent and opulent suburb.
The heart of this little community did not center, as a thoughtless
person might suppose, in the church, or the commandery, or the grocery
store, or the school, but in the signal tower. It was the pulse of the
section. It was the life-blood of thousands of unconcerned travelers,
whose lives and happiness depended on the intelligent vigilance of three
men. These three took turns up there in the tower, locking and unlocking
switches and signals until one might expect them to faint for dizziness
and confusion. It was no uncommon thing in the signal tower, when one of
the three wanted a day off, for the other two to double up on
twelve-hour shifts. As long as the service was well performed, the
Superintendent asked no questions."

The story came to be written on account of the prolonged sickness of one
of the three, which compelled the remaining two to remain on duty until
their eyes were often dim, and their brain power exhausted. One of these
finally worked until nature overcame force of habit and reliability, and
a collision would have resulted but for the returning consciousness of
the overworked and thoroughly exhausted man.

While this hero of everyday life slept, or rather lost the power of
thought from extreme exhaustion, the heavy snow storm which was making
the night doubly dark had so blocked the machinery of the semaphore that
it refused to respond to the desperate efforts of the weary signal man,
who heard a freight train approaching, and knew that unless it was
flagged at once it would dash