“Allan!” he cried, stretching out his arms imploringly. “Allan!”
Allan sat bolt upright, rubbing his eyes, straining his ears to hear the call again.
It was Jack’s voice,—he knew it now,—but the dawn was not peeping in at the window, as was usual when Jack called him. He realized that the night had not yet passed. He caught a glimmer of yellow light under his door and heard Jack putting on his boots in the room below.
Fully awake at last, he sprang out of bed and opened the door.
“What is it?” he called down the stair. “Do you want me?”
Allan threw on his clothes with trembling hands, and hastened down-stairs. He found Jack already at table, eating hastily.
“Set down,” said the latter, “an’ fill up. It’s mighty uncertain when ye’ll git another square meal.”
“We’re going out?” asked the boy. “Then there’s a wreck?”
“Yes, a wreck—freight, near Vinton. Th’ caller jest come fer me. It’s so bad all th’ section-gangs on this end ’r ordered out. Eat all y’ kin. Better drink some coffee, too. Y’ll need it.”
Allan did his best to force himself to eat, but the strangeness of the hour and the excitement of the promised adventure took all desire for food from him. He managed, however, to drink a cup of coffee, but his hands were trembling so with excitement he could scarcely hold the cup. It was a wreck, and a bad one. How terrible to lose a moment! He was eager to be off. But Jack knew from experience the value and need of food while it could be obtained, in view of what might be before them.
“It’ll take ’em some time t’ git’ th’ wreckin’-train ready,” he said. “Git our waterproofs, Mary.”
But Mary had them waiting, as well as a lot of sandwiches. She had been through such scenes before.
“There, stuff your pockets full,” she said to Allan. “You’ll want ’em.”
“And now, good-bye, Mary,” said Jack. “No, don’t wake the baby. If we git back by t’-morrer night, we’ll be lucky. Come on, Allan.”
The snow was still falling heavily as they left the house, and they made their way with some difficulty to the corner of the yards where the wrecking-train stood on its spur of siding. A score of section-men had already gathered, and more were coming up every minute. Nobody knew anything definite about the wreck—some one had heard that Bill Miller, the engineer, was hurt. It seemed they were taking a doctor along, for Allan saw his tall form in the uncertain light. And the train-master and division superintendent were with him, talking together in low tones.