The Jersey City news. (Jersey City [N.J.]) 1889-1906, 1889-05-28
FOILED BY A GIRL.
Thrilling Incident of Rail
road Life On the
"a-~- DIai-e

canyons OF the Rocky mountains, or on
the vast rolling prairies of the north
west, a more absolutely lonely spot than
that on which stood tho Cranberry Creek
telegraph cabin of the Buffalo and Mis-
sissippi River railroad. 1t was located
right in the heart of the dense forests of
Putnam county, o., and is, even today,
miles removed from a habitation of any
kind, to say nothing about towns and
villages.
A good many freight trains pass the
cabin each day, but they usually rattle
by Cranberry Creek without stopping
though once in a great while it is found
necessary to hold the ~"local," or a Sec
ton of a freight train for orders. The
cabin itself was an old box car, set at
the side of the track and painted a bright
red, SO that the engineers might see it a
long distance off. 1t was partitioned into
two compartments, one end being the
Office and the other end the 'tboudoir" Of
Joe Denman, the operator.
Some eight or nine years ago,o on a
Sunday afternoon, in summer time, Joe
took his arm chair out and planted it be-
tween the cabin and the track. Then he
planted himself in the chair, tilted it
back against the red wall of his cabin
and commenced to read the weekly
paper which Ben Bolton, the conductor
of the e~local," always left at Cranberry
Creek on each recurring Saturday eve
ming.
For a man who could not cross his legs
(Joe only had one, having lost the other
when he was a brakeman our friend
made himself as comfortable as circum-
stances would permit, and as it was a
pleasant enough day Joe Denman was
fairly well contented and happy. Inside
the cabin could be heard the ceaseless
"click, click, clicketty, click" of the lit
tie hammer on the telegraph table, as
messages flew over the circuit of wire
that included Cranberry Creek.
But Joe was such an old timer with
the "ticker" that he could read and even
whistle and talk, when there was any
one to talk to, and still answer promptly
enough when he was called by the train
dispatcher or by some operator a hum
dred miles away.
As he unfolded his newspaper Joe
glanced up and down the track. He
could see nothing but the deserted rail-
through the thick forest. To the east
and to the west nothing was visible but
the two lines of glittering steel rails
stretching away until track and forest
and sky blended in the hazy distance.
It seemed SO lonesome that Joe was really
grateful to the white post a few yards
away, on which he saw in black charac-
tiers, &C. 255," for he was reminded then
that Chicago at least was only 255 miles
distant.
Joe read on for more than an hour,
and was SO engrossed in a clever edito-
rial that he started almost out of his
chair when he felt the sleeve of his coat
gently pulled, while a baby voice said,
sweetly enough, "Hellor"
The operator dropped his paper to gaze
upon a little child-a girl-perhaps 4 or
5 years old. She was very pretty, with
soft, plump cheeks and hands and with
hair that was more white than golden
it was SO very fair. The little one was
evidently the child of poor people, for
her tiny dress was of cotton, her shoes,
SO dusty, were of the cheapest kind, and
her large straw hat was untrimmed.
s'Helloy' she said again, with a sweet
baby smile, and with as much confidence
as if she had known the operator all her
short life.
''Why, bless my soulr' exclaimed Joe,
who was more surprised than he had
been when he fell under the wheels years
before. But Joe, old bachelor and her.
NIT as he was, loved little children and
was a kind hearted fellow.
"Why, little 'un, where did you blow
from?'' he asked the child, as he gently
sat on his one knee, and with his red
bandanna handkerchief wiped the thick
dust off the little shoes.
"That way" she answered promptly,
pointing her chubby finger to the west.
But Joe was puzzled. He knew there
was no house within four miles in that
direction. 81
"What is the baby's namef' asked Joe.
"Dissy."
"Sissy?" repeated Joe, imagining that
ne could interpret baby language very
"'Es, M" said the child, shaking her
head-"Dissy."
And in all the years that followed Joe
Denman never learned the history of the
baby girl nor where she came from on
that summer Sunday afternoon. He had
to remain satisfied that her name was
Dissy, and the only reasonable or proba-
BILE explanation of the strange name came
once from a tramp book agent, who sug-
gested that it might possibly be an alb
breviation of Eurydice. For Joe, the
operator, took a fancy to the little waif,
and, as there was no law, or even rule of
the railroad, to prevent him, he decided
to adopt the tiny, fair haired stranger.
He was so generous that he gave up his
apartment to Miss Dissy, and
himself slept on a camp cot in the tele-
graph office.
More than seven years passed away,
and, according to Joe Denman's calcula-
tons, Dissy must have been well nigh 10
years old. She was so old that, although
it CAV Joe's heart a big and painful
wrench when he thought about it, the
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