The Van Buren press., 1895-02-02
A BRAKEMAN'S STORY.
The Tragic End Of q Happy
Young Life.


the long freight train would come to q
standstill with an abrupt, awkward
jerk we could almost hear the big,
drifting flakes as they fell. Not q
breath OF air was stirring and the big.
round moon filtered down through the
snowstorm with q white, softened
light that revealed nearby objects in
= strange, ghostly sort Of way. The
soft-coal fire that spluttered fitfully In
the old-fashioned cast iron upright
stove lacked cheer enough to break
the spell Of the outside air. Without
knowing precisely why, we sat mostly
in silence or muttercd an occasional
monosyllablic observation as to how
soon VIC might rench Jersey City. We
were four hours behind time and
somewhere back of us we knew was
the West Shore express, likewise be-
hind time and endeavoring to make up
something Of its lost run.
Sitting in the little red caboose in
the rear Of the big freight train, rum
bling along through a blind fog Of
snow with flying express at our
heels gave an uncanny sensation that
I, for one, did not relish In the least.
The drummer who had boarded the
train at .Newburg sat morosely on
pile Of grips, which afforded him a
softer seat than the hard, wooden
benches strung along the sides of the
car. A couple Of shippers anxiously
discussed the prospects for getting
their stock to market without having
them half frozen to death.
At the entrance of Joe. the brake
man, however, the glum little party
seemed to thaw at once. He swung
down of the roof of the last box car
and in through the door In chcery,
wholesome sort of fashion that
warmed us at once.
'Joe," said one Of the shippers, "be
We going to reach Jersey City afore
Chrietmas?"
Isn't this good enough for You to
live In? How'd you like to be out
braking to-night?"
"'Tain't no snap, that's fact" the
shipper assented.
mo, you bet it ain't." said Joe, de-
cisively. but this amt patching TO
what 1t is sometimes"
Something in the manner In which
Joe carefully filed his cob pipe, took
. bit Of stick from the floor, poked 1t
into the FIRE and lit his pipe slowly and
thoughtfully, indicated that story
was coming.
"Strange," said Joe at last. with
ruminant look into the fire and long,
steady pull at his pipe, somehow to-
night reminds me of day two years
ago. That was when we brought
Johnny Haines home. Guess you must
"a known Johnny" he added, turning
to the shipper.
Nope. Heard of him. Go on, Joe
What was the storyf"
Not much of a one," Joe replied.
dsprccatingly. "Just brakeman's
yarn, only it's little out OF the COM
mon run. The first day ever saw
Johnny Haines thought he was
about the handsomcst lad ever set
eyes on. He came up on No. on her
first trip. We used to meet often up
and down the road and got to know
each other pretty well. He was one
OF these lads with fresh, pink and
white complexion and jolly laugh
that made you warm up to him at
once. He was straight and strong,
and when he used to stand jauntily
on top of the car, the train going forty
miles an hour and he not seeming to
think It was moving at all. there
wasn't girl along the road that
hadn't smile for him as he went by.
The lad was anxious to stick and
worked hard, and. MS he kept his
mouth shut pretty close, it was long
time before we found out anything
about who he was. He had little ways
about him that made us think once In
awhile that he hadn't been brought
up to work, and his hands at frst
were as soft and white as a girls.
One of the fellows told us story of
how Johnny belonged to good fam
lily, but got kicked out for some rea-
aon or other. but we always thought
he made it up, and, in fact, we never
did find out his story until that night.
] mean the night we took him home"
Joe stopped, pulled vigorously at his
pipe for few moments, blinked
rather suspiciously several times, and
6nally the rather husky voice went on:
1T seems that the lads name wasn't