about to report, answered quickly, and the despatcher asked, "Where's the special?"
"Gone," said the wire, and the train-master pitched forward fainting among the ink-stands and instruments.
The operator at Westcreek stood in front of the little station, smiling at the road-master on No. 8, and the operator at Eastcreek sat looking through the window at the rear end of the President's private car, puckering up in the distance; and the three drivers, ignorant of the awful mistake, were now dashing, at the rate of a mile a minute, into the open door of death. ······· The superintendent, who had looked into the ghost-like face of the girl as she passed him on the stair, thought he read there of a wrong done, and returned at once to the despatcher's office, determined to have the matter out with his rebellious train-master. He had entered the office unobserved by the operator and stood directly behind him, and heard him ask Eastcreek where the special was, and heard the answer—"Gone." Of this he made nothing, until the despatcher threw out his arms
