All the while we were getting nearer to the bridge and it was easier
rowing, because the tide was on the turn.
Now maybe if you fellows that read this don't live in the country where
there's a river, you won't understand about tides and bridges and all
that. So I'll tell you how it is, because, gee, we're used to all that,
us fellows.
Jimmy Van Dorian, he lives right near the bridge in a little shanty and
he's lame and he's a bridge tender. You don't get much for being a bridge
tender and mostly old veterans are bridge tenders. Anyway, they don't get
much out our way, because big boats don't come up and they don't have to
open the bridge often.
When we got down to the bridge we saw that the tide was right up so we
even had to duck our heads to get under, and right on the other side of
the bridge was a tugboat standing facing upstream and its whistle was
screeching and screeching just like a dog stands and barks when he's mad.
It seemed awful funny because it was a small tug and it made so much
noise.
"It ought to be named the Pee-wee," Westy said.
"Nobody's paying much attention to it," I told him.
Just as we came under the bridge we could see a big fat man, oh,
Christopher, wasn't he fat, standing up in the pilot house pulling
and pulling the whistle rope, for the bridge to open. Sometimes he'd
pull it very fast, just like you do with the receiver on the telephone
when you're good and mad because Central don't answer. And it was
pretty near as bad as the telephone, too, because he went on tooting
and tooting and tooting and nobody paid any attention to him.
CHAPTER XXIX
JIMMY, THE BRIDGE-TENDER
Pretty soon the big fat man stuck his head out of the window and he
shouted, "What's the matter, is everybody deaf around here? Here, you
boys, where's the bridgeman?" Honest, you'd think I had the bridgeman
in my pocket. I told him I didn't know where the bridgeman was. Oh, but
he looked mad. He had an awful red face and white whiskers and I guess
he must have been used to ordering people around--anyway, he looked that
way.
He said, "Here I am on the down tide, the water going out every minute
and got to run up to North Bridgeboro yet. It's a--" he said what kind
of an outrage it was, but I wouldn't tell you. Oh, he was hopping mad.
"I'll get stuck hard and fast in the consarned mud," he said, "if I
ain't back and past this here Sleepy Hollow in forty minutes--that's
what I will!"
I hollered
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