rward; a force irresistible, that, in its first, sudden, overwhelming
surge he could not understand, could not grasp, could not focus into
concrete form--could only obey.

He passed out through the doors, and then for the first time a cry rang
from his lips. There were no halting, stumbling, uncertain steps now.
Men running down the street called to Flannagan as he sped past them.
Flannagan made no answer, did not look their way; his face, strained
and full of dumb anguish, was set toward the station.

He gained the platform and raced along it. Shouts came from across the
yards. Up and down the spurs fluttered the fore-shortened little yard
engine, coughing sparks and wheezing from her exhaust as she bustled
the wrecking train together; lamps swung and twinkled like fireflies,
for it was just opening spring and the dark fell early; and in front of
the roundhouse, the 1014, blowing hard from her safety under a full
head of steam, like a thoroughbred that scents the race, was already on
the table.

With a heave of his great shoulders and a sweep of his arms, Flannagan
won through the group of trainmen, shop hands, and loungers clustered
around the door, and took the stairs four at a leap.

A light burned in the super's office, but the voices came from the
despatchers' room. And there in the doorway Flannagan halted--halted
just for a second's pause while his eyes swept the scene before him.

Regan, the master mechanic, by the window, was mouthing curses under
his breath as men do in times of stress; Spence, the despatcher,
white-faced, the hair straggling into his eyes, was leaning over the
key under the green-shaded lamp, over the key clearing the line while
the sounder clicked in his ears of ruin and of lives gone out. Harvey,
the division engineer, was there, pulling savagely at a brier with
empty bowl. And at the despatcher's elbow stood Carleton, a grim
commander, facing tidings of disaster, his shoulders braced and bent a
little forward as though to take the blow, his jaws clamped tight till
the lips, compressed, were bloodless, and the chiselled lines on his
face told of the bitterness in his heart.

Then Flannagan stepped forward.

"Carleton," he cried, and his words came like panting sobs, "Carleton,
give me back my job."

It was no place for Flannagan.

Carleton's cup was already full to overflowing, and he swung on
Flannagan like a flash. His hand lifted and pointed to the door.

"Get out of