Meantime, while Hilda lay trembling in the hay, several things were happening at the Junction.
Dan Stevens, with his eyes a little brighter than usual—which is saying a great deal, for they were unusually bright, keen eyes—hung up the receiver and handed the phone over to the station agent:
“Call up Dad for me, will you, Sandy, while I get that train dispatcher!” He put his face close to the grated window, laid two of his fingers to his lips and sent forth a whistle that rivaled his signals at Platt’s Crossing.
“Oh, I say! Baker! Where’s the train dispatcher? Tell him he’s got to hold the train till I get this message through!”
Then he swung back to the desk:
“Got Dad? Well, connect me with the other phone then I won’t bother you,” and he vanished into the little booth at the other si
