All the time the
tramp, tramp on the platform was coming closer and closer, and my heart
was gradually forcing its way up in my mouth. In a moment the
waiting-room door was thrown open, and with a wild whoop and a big
hurrah, the crowd came in. The door between the office and the
waiting-room was closed, but that made no difference to my visitors;
they smashed it open and swarmed into the office. One of them picked up
the lantern, and swaggering over to where I sat all trembling with fear,
and expecting that _my_ lights would go out next, raised it to my face.
They all crowded around me and one of them gave me a good punch in the
ribs. Then the one with the lantern said, "Well, fellows, the little
cuss is game. He didn't get under the table like the last one did. Kid,
for a tenderfoot, you're a hummer."
Get under the table! I couldn't. I would have given half my interest in
the hereafter to have been able to crawl under the table or to have run
away. But fright held its sway, and locomotion was impossible.
For about five minutes the despatcher had been calling me for orders,
and in a trembling voice I asked them to let me answer and take the
order.
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