A
despatcher's work is cut out for him, just as the tailor would cut his
cloth for a journeyman workman, and when his eight hour trick is done,
his work for the day is finished and his time is his own. Not so the
chief. His work is never done; he works early and late, and even at
night when he goes home utterly tired out from his long day, he is
liable to be called up to go out on a wrecking outfit, or to perform
some special duty. As soon as anything goes wrong on a division the
first cry is, "Send for the chief despatcher." Almost everybody on the
division is under his jurisdiction except the division superintendent,
and sometimes I have seen that mighty dignitary take a back seat for his
chief despatcher.
It was some ten years after I had begun to pound brass, that I awoke one
fine morning to find myself offered the position of chief despatcher on
the central division of the C. N. & Q. Railway, with headquarters at
Selbyville. I was very well satisfied at El Monte, had been promoted to
the first trick and had many friends whom I did not like to leave, but
then, I was as high as I could get in a good many years, because Fred
Bennett, the chief, was a stayer from away back, and there wouldn't be a
vacancy there for a long time to come.
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