"RIGHT-AWAY" STORIES.

Otago Witness, Issue 3040, 19 June 1912, Page 81

"RIGHT-AWAY" STORIES.

By Will Lawson

BRANNIGAN, THE PORTER.

(All rights reserved.)

The passenger train bound for the city was due at the suburban station, and presently a whistle sounded just beyond the tunnel. Then, with a roar of wheels a black mass, hardly distinguishable in the dark, rushed out of the deep cutting, and bore down on the station, with a yell of warning at the unlighted crossing. The engine headlight was not burning; low down, a light like a will-o'-the-wisp danced and flickered.

. The waiting passengers rose from seats in readiness to board the train when it stopped. The leading engine dashed post, a hurricane lamp dangling from her pilot. She was followed by a second steel giant, and their combined weight and momentum shook the little station. Then came sheep waggons, sheep, sheep, sheep ! "Disgraceful, the way they run sheep on passenger trains,'' a voice remarked. "Why," as the train raced on, " they're not going to stop.'' It was so. " The tail lights showed from the back of the van, and there was not a passenger carriage on the train. As the gloom of night and disappointment settled on the wayside station, and its inhabitants, I said to the old porter in charge, "What's up?" " Oh,'* he answered, " a sheep train has got in ahead of the passenger, and they're shaking her up so as to let the passenger on to the section."

" They are shaking her up, and no mis: take," I said. " They couldn't do that on a down grade without the air brakes." " No." he agreed; "they couldn't. My word, there were some close shaves in the days when we had steam brakes on the engines, and only hand brakes on the waggons and carriages. Some funny things happened too. Did I ever tell you about Joe Branmigan?" " No, you never, did "

The township of Tuke was a railway township, just a cluster of cottages, a hotel, and a church. The church was quite new; in fact, the ceremony of dedication was to take place as soon as the morning train from the oity arrived. The slow labouring of old Jane, the engine which was dragging it up the hill to Tuke, was echoing and rumbling among the hills. One of the oldest railway hands in the place was Joe Brannigan, porter; and he was also a staunch churchman. Upon him rested the honour and responsibility of receiving the arriving bishop and of carrying out the arrangements in connection" with the oeremony. The arrival of the train represented an anxious time in Joe Brannigan's career. As it happened, the bishop was in the foremost carriage, which went right past Joe, as he sitood on the platform. Quickly he daohed along after it, colliding,' in his haste, with the stationmaster, and falling over a stray portmanteau!. When eventually he did arrive, he was speechless with nervousness and discomfiture. But the bishop regarded Joe as an old friend. Before he became a bishop he had lived in Tuke, and held its inhabitants together as a small but earnest congregation in an old church that always leaned to leeward: sometimes the wind changed during the service, and then Father Hawson would wait until the creaking beams and timbers had settled to steadiness again. ■ " Now, teli me," the bishop asked Joe, " how many will be there?'' " Every soul," Joe answered. " And have yon plenty of seats —chairs and forms"

" I think bo, that is, there's " Joe began to count on his fingers. " Let's be on the safe side,'' the bishop said. " Get all the forms you can."

Now, Joe had already done this, except those in the house of Widow Rogan, which stood alongside the line about half a mile further on, and the reason of his leaving these forms unasked for was a vague thing in Joe's mind, when he tried to bring it down to words, but a large objection when he thought of it. He was in love with the Widow Rogan, and very frightened of her because of this.

Nevertheless, Joe answered : " I will. Father, I'll just run down to Missus Rogan'6, and get her kitchen forms."

Jane, the locomotive, was going down the line too, but the formalities of her departure were tedious, and Joe was well on hie way, jogging along between the metals wheal Jane screamed and made loud noises in her huge Yankee funnel. After she left the level, steam was shut off, and the engine brakes applied. On the waggons and carriage oidy hand-brakes were fitted. Just as a matter of form, the driver whistled at Joe. Joe took no notice. The whistle screamed again. Joe's mind was too intent on framing a sentence in which to ask Widow Rogan for her forms to realise that two hundred tons of dead weight were rolling down to hit him in the spinal column. The whistling had attracted the attention of the men at the station. Joe was still trotting along between the metals. Then Jane screamed three times, which is railway talk for "Put on all your brakes." The guard and ticket clerks ran and climbed from waggon to waggon, screwing down all the brakes. Even then the train rolled on just a little faster than a man can run, and nothing human could stop it.

" Joe's gone deaf," the driver said. Father Raneon -was running as he had often don© in hie youth, to the rescue of Joe. Joe was not running hard—his 'egs moved mechanically at the same rate that his brain toiled at its task of choosing appropriate words for the asking of Widow Rogan for her forms. Tlie fireman seized a lump of coal, and leaned out of the cab in an effort to wing Joe and wake him up. If he had hit his mark he would have about crippled Joe for life. As it happened, Jane's hulk, roll-

ing on downhill, came between the missile and Joe.

"Look here," the fireman said "I'm going to get down on the cow-catcher and shove him out of the way." " Better not," the driver ©aid, " if anything happened to him you'd have him on your mind, feel as if you'd had a hand in it. I'll give him another chance.'' Again the whistle screamed. "I'd try to reverse," the driver said, "only she'd just about burst." joe was nearly at Widow Rogan's gate; so was Jane. Nearing the path that led tlhrough the "gate, Joe moved to the left a little. '■ His left foot was on the outside of the rail, his right was raised to follow it, when Jane's cowcatcher slid under his foot. Joe shot clear through the gate, and brought up with a crash against the front stepa. The crash hurt him exceedingly, and his right leg was rather limp. When Widow Rogan ran to her doorway, Joe, half rising, began to deliver his message : " I've come " he said, and then he fainted. Father Rogan, having distanced all the other men, arrived in time to carry Joe indoors. And Jane, the driver and fireman nearly distracted, went rolling down the hill, just a little faster than a man can run. From the northward the sound of an approaching train sounded. " There «&e is." the porter • :iid, " not so very late either." " But yom haven't finished," I said. "Do you mean to say that Brannigan did not hear the engine?" "I do that." " Are you sure?" " As sure as my name's Joe Rrannican, and as sure as Widow Rogan's name is now Missus Joe. Brannigmn. There ie no doubt about that, sir, none whatever."