on the train sheet. Two minutes after the freight had left Monte Carlo, poor Pat realized that he had made a mistake. He said not a word to any person, but quietly ordered out the wrecking outfit, and then reaching in the drawer he took his revolver and snuffed out his candle. He fell forward on the train sheet, as if to cover up, with his lifeless body, the terrible blunder he had made. Many other despatchers had made serious errors, and in a measure outlived them; but here was a man who had grown gray in the service of railroads, with never a mark against him. By one slip of memory he had, as he thought, ruined himself forever, and too proud to bear the disgrace, he killed himself.

The wreck was an awful one. The superintendent's son was riding on the engine, and he and the engineer and the fireman were crushed almost beyond recognition. The superintendent, his wife, his daughter, and a friend were badly bruised, but none of them seriously injured. The second-trick man wasn't to be found immediately, so I worked until four o'clock, and the impression of that day will never leave me. It was a long time before I fully recovered my equanimity.

The next afternoon we buried poor Pat, and the earth closed over him forever, and thus passed from view a man whose character was of the purest and whose nature was of the gentlest. I have never seen his equal in any way. I often think that, if I had not gone over to the hotel on that fatal morning, the accident might have been averted, because, perhaps, I would have noticed the mistake in time to have prevented the collision. But again, it is probable that I would not have observed it, for operators, not having the responsibility of the despatchers, rarely concentrate their minds intensely on what they are taking. A man will sit and copy by the hour with the greatest accuracy, and at the same time be utterly oblivious of the purport of what he has been taking. There can be no explanation as to why Pat forgot the special. It is one of those things that happen; that's all.

MY FIRST TRICK.

The rule of seniority was adhered to in the office, and in the natural sequence of events the night man got my job, I was promoted to the third trick-from twelve midnight until eight A. M.-and a new night copy operator was brought in from Vining.

If any trick is easier than another it is the third, but none of them are sinecures by any means. When I was copy operator, I used to imagine it was easy to sit over on the other side of the table and give orders, "jack up" conductors and engineers because they didn't make time, and haul operators over the coals if you called them five minutes; but when I was finally assigned a trick, I found things very different. Copying, with no responsibility, was easy; but despatching I found about the stiffest job I had ever undertaken. I had to be on the alert in every faculty and every minute for about eight hours. While the first and second tricks have, perhaps, more train-order work attached to them, the third is about on a par with them, as far as actual labor goes, because, in addition to the regular trainorder work, a new train sheet has to be opened every night at twelve o'clock, which necessitates the keeping of two until all the trains on the old one have completed their runs. There is also a consolidated train report to be made at this time, which is a recapitulation of the movements of all trains for the preceding twenty-four hours, giving delays, the causes thereof, accidents, cars hauled, etc. This is submitted to the division superintendent in the morning, and after he has perused it, he sends a condensed copy to the general superintendent. Many a man loses his job by a report against him on that train sheet.

To show the strain on a man's mind when he is despatching trains, let me tell a little incident that happened to me in the beginning of my career. Every morning about five o'clock, the third-trick man begins to figure on his work-train orders for the day, and when he has completed them, he gives them to the different crews. Work-train orders, it may not be amiss to explain, are the orders given the different construction crews, such as the bridge gang, the grading gang, track gang, etc., to work between certain points at certain times. They must be very full and explicit in detail as to all trains that are to run during the continuance of the order. For regular trains running on time no notification need be given, because the time-card rules apply; but for all extras, specials, and delayed trains, warnings must be given, so that the work-trains can get out of the way for them, otherwise the results might be very serious. Work orders are the bane of a new despatcher's existence.

I got along fairly well the first night as a

despatcher, and had no mishaps to speak of, although I delayed a through passenger some ten minutes by making a bad meet with a freight train, and I put a through freight on a siding for a train of an inferior class. For these little errors of judgment I was "cussed out" by the conductors and engineers, when they came in, and the division superintendent, on looking over the train sheet the next morning, remarked, that delaying a passenger train would never do, and in such a tone of voice that I could plainly see my finish, should I ever so offend again.

By 5.30 A.M., I had completed my worktrain orders and sent them out. From that time until 8 o'clock, when the firsttrick man relieved me, I was kept busy. He read over my orders, verified the sheet, and signed the transfer on the order book, and after a few moments' chat I went home. I went to bed about 9 o'clock, and was on the point of dropping off to sleep, when all at once I remembered that an extra fast freight was due to leave at 9.45 A.M. and that there was a train working in the cut about four miles out. I wondered if I had notified her to get out of the way of the extra. The extra would go down through that cut like greased lightning, because Horace Daniels, on engine 341, was going to pull her, and Horace was known as a runner from away back. I reviewed, as carefully as I could, the orders I had given to the work-train, and was rather sure I had notified them, but still I was not absolutely certain, and began to feel very uncomfortable. Poor Borroughs had just made his smash-up, and I didn't want poor Bates to have his right away. I looked at my watch, and found it was then 9.20. The extra would leave in twenty-five minutes, and I lived nearly a mile from the office. I slipped on my clothes, and, without putting on a collar or cravat, I caught up my hat and ran

for the depot. As I approached, I saw Daniels giving 341 the last touch of oil before he started out. I shouted to him, "Don't pull out for a minute, Daniels; I think there is a mistake in your orders."

Daniels was a gruff sort of fellow, and he snapped back at me, "What is the matter with you? I hain't got no orders yet. Come here till I oil those wheels in your head."

I went up to the office, and Daniels followed me. Bennett, the chief, was standing by the counter as I went in, and after a glance at me, he said, "What's up, kid? Seen a ghost? You look almost pale enough to be one yourself."

I said, "No, I haven't seen any ghosts, but I am afraid I forgot to notify that gang working just east of here about this extra.'

The conductor and engineer were both there, and they smiled very audibly at my discomfiture; in fact it was so audible that you could hear it for a block. Bennett went over to the table, glanced at the order book, and said, "Oh, bosh, Bates, of course you notified them. Here it is as big as life. Look out for extra east, engine 341, leaving El Monte at 9.45 A.M.' What do you want to scare us that way for?"

I was about to depart for home, congratulating myself on my escape, when Bennett called me over to one side of the room, and in a low, but very firm, voice metaphorically ran up and down my spinal column with a rake. He asked me if I didn't know there were other despatchers in that office besides myself; and didn't I suppose that the order book would be verified and consulted before sending out the extra? He hoped I never would show such a case of rattles again. That was all. Good morning. All the same I was glad I went back to the office that morning, because I satisfied myself that I had not committed an unpardonable error at the outset of my career.