The Red Signal (Grace Livingston Hill Book)

By

Grace Livingston Hill

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HILDA LESSING stood hesitating fearfully before the wide expanse of railroad tracks that seemed to be fairly bristling with menacing engines, some moving, some standing still. In her bewilderment she could not be sure which were moving and which were standing still. They all seemed alive; waiting to pounce upon her if she stirred.

The conductor had told her, when he put her off the express, that the other train made good connection, and she had no time to waste. He had pointed across all those tracks, and across them she must go. She made a wild dash, accomplished half the distance, and suddenly found herself snatched from the very teeth of a flying express that had appeared like a comet out of the  melee, and held in strong arms against a bit of rail fence that traversed the space between the tracks for a little distance.

It seemed ages that she clung with trembling arms to a big rough shoulder, her body pressed against the fence, one hand still gripping the suitcase jammed between her and the fence, while an interminable train rushed, car after car, past her reeling brain, the hot breath of its going blasting her cheeks. To add to the horror, another train dashed into sight on the other side of the frail fence and tore along in the opposite direction. She felt like a leaf in a crevice with a great roaring avalanche on either side. If she should let go her feeble hold of the rescuer for a single instant, or if he failed her, she was lost. Her horrified eyes were strained and fascinated with the fearful spectacle till it seemed she could bear it no longer; then she closed them with a shiver and dropped her face to the broad blue jean shoulder that offered the only relief.

The strong arms seemed to hold her closer with a reassuring pressure that comforted her. The rushing of the train was growing less as if some spell had it within control now, and she felt herself lifted and borne swiftly beyond the noise and confusion. She dared not open her eyes until he put her down upon a quiet bench at the far end of the platform away from the crowds.

She dimly felt that people were looking curiously, excitedly, after her, and that the trainmen, with startled faces, were calling out something to her companion; but she paid no heed to any of them. She only saw his face bending solicitously over her, his pleasant eyes so brown and merry, and heard his cheery voice:

“Say, kid, that was a close call! Didn't you know any better than to cross those tracks with both fliers due? Where was the station man, I'd like to know, that he let you start?”

“Oh!” gasped Hilda, turning whiter than ever. “I didn't know! I couldn't find a way across, and I had to make my train!” Then the tears came in a flood of nervous reaction and she dropped her face into her hands and sobbed.

 The man in the blue overalls sidled up to her in dismay and put his big arm awkwardly around her, forgetful of his amused comrades not far away.

 “There! There! Kid! Don't cry! It's all over, and you're perfectly safe!”

He patted her slender shaking shoulders gently with his big blackened hand, and looked helplessly down at the girl.

“What train were you meaning to take?” he asked with sudden inspiration.

Hilda lifted a pair of drenched blue eyes, large and wide, with a new fear, and started to her feet.

“Oh! The train to Platt's Crossing! Has it gone? I ought to hurry! Which way do I go?”

 The young man looked at his watch. He had nice hair and a handsome head. She liked the way the dark curl fell over his white forehead, and the strength of the bronzed neck above the jumper.

“You’ve plenty of time. Number ten isn't due for fifteen minutes. Come over to the restaurant and have a cup of coffee. That'll put some pep into you.”

 He seized the suitcase and led the way. She noticed that he did everything as if he were a gentleman. She liked the way he pulled out the chair and seated her at the table. He gave an order for sandwiches, coffee, baked apples and cream. It looked good to her after a night and morning of fasting.

“Do you live at Platt's Crossing?” His brown eyes were fixed pleasantly, respectfully upon her.

“No! That is—I live in Chicago—or I did till father died. I'm going to work at Platt's Crossing.”

 She spoke as if it were an unpleasant fact that had not yet become familiar enough to lose the pain of its expression.

“You look young to go to work,” he said kindly, interestedly. “What line? Telephone girl or stenography?”

 The color stole up under her clear skin.

 “Neither,” she said bravely. “It's a truck farm. They're Germans my uncle knows. I'm to help. Housework, I suppose. I'm going to try to like it, but I wanted to teach. I had finished high school and was going to normal next fall if father hadn't died. But something happened to our money and I had to take this place. Mother's got a place as matron in an orphan asylum, where she could take my little brother with her. It isn't very pleasant, but it was the best that we could do.”

“That's tough luck, kid!” said the young man sympathetically, “but brace up! If you've got it in you to teach you'll get your chance yet. Are you German?”

 “No,” said the girl decidedly. “Father was. He was born in Germany. He liked this country, though, and didn't keep running hack to Germany every year the way my uncle does. But mother and I are Americans. Mother was born in Chicago.”

 “Well, you'd better keep your eyes open, kid! Those German truck farms have been getting a bad name since the war broke out. There are lots of spies around just now. You can't tell what you may come across.”

 There was a twinkle of fun in his eyes, but a strain of earnestness in his voice. The girl looked at him in wide-eyed wonder.

“You don't suppose there would be any such thing as that?” she asked, dropping her spoon. “I thought spies were just newspaper talk. Our high school teacher used to say so.”

 “Well, there are plenty of spies around all right!” be said seriously. “It's not all newspaper talk. But don't you worry. It isn't likely they'll come around you, and you might not know them for spies if they did.”

“Oh! I should be so frightened!” she said, her hand fluttering to her throat. “What do people do when they discover spies?”

 “Just lie low and send word to Washington as quick as they can. But don't look like that, kid; I was just talking nonsense!”

 She tried to answer his smile with another.

 “I know I'm silly,” she said contritely, “but it seems so dreadful to come to this strange place among people I don't know anything about.”

 “Oh, you'll come out all right. It won't be so bad as you think. They'll likely turn out to be fine.”

 She took a deep breath and smiled bravely.

 “I don't know what mother would say if she knew I was talking to you,” she remarked anxiously. “She brought me up never to speak to strange young men. But you've been so kind saving my life! Only I wouldn't like to have you think I'm that kind of a girl----”

 “Of course not!” he said indignantly. “Anybody could see that with a glance. I hope you haven't thought I was fresh, either. I saw you were all in and needed a little jollying up. I guess those two expresses sort of introduced us, didn't they? I’m Dan Stevens. My father is—has a position—that is, he works on the railroad, and I'm engineer just at present on number five freight. I'll be glad to be of service to you at any time.”

“My name is Hilda Lessing,” said the girl shyly. “You certainly have been kind to me, I shan't ever forget that I would have been killed if it hadn't been for you. I guess you might have been killed, too. You were very brave, jumping in between those trains after me. I shan't feel quite so lonesome and homesick now, knowing there's someone I know between Platt's Crossing and Chicago.”

 “Oh, that wasn't anything!” said the young man lightly. “That’s part of the railroad business, you know. But say! It's rank to be homesick! Suppose I give you a signal as I pass Platt's Crossing. I get there at 2: 05 usually, unless we're late. It will maybe cheer you up to let you know there's somebody around you know. I’ll give three long blasts and two short ones. That'll be to say: ‘Hello! How are you? Here's a friend!’ I know where that truck farm is, right along the railroad before you get to the bridge, about, a quarter of a mile this side. There isn't much else at Platt's Crossing but that farm. We stop to take on freight sometimes. Here, tell you what you do. If everything's all right and you think things are going to go you just hang a towel or apron or something white out your window, or on the fence rail somewhere. I'll be watching for it. That will be like saying: ‘I'm very well, thank you.’ Won't that make you feel a little more at home?"

“It certainly will. It will be something to look forward to,” said Hilda smiling shyly. “I shan't be half as much afraid if I know there is somebody going by to whom I could signal if I got into trouble. Of course, I know I won't, but you understand.”

 “Of course,” said the engineer rising. “That’s all right. If you get into trouble or find that spy or anything, you can hand out a red rag for a danger signal, and then I'll know there is something that needs to be looked after. See? Now, I guess we had better beat it. It's time for that train of yours. I'm glad to have met you. You're a mighty plucky little girl and I honor you.”

He pushed back his chair and picked up the suitcase. She noticed again the ease of every movement, as if he were waiting on the greatest lady in the land. Then the train boomed in; he put her on, found a seat for her, touched his greasy cap with courteous grace and was gone. A moment more and she was started on her way to Platt's Crossing.

She paid little heed to the landscape by the way, for she was going over and over again all that had happened since she set her first timid step across that labyrinth of tracks, and was caught from sudden death by the strong arms of the young engineer. Various sensations that had hardly seemed to register at the time now came back to make her heart leap and her pulses thrill with horror or wonder or a strange new pleasure. How strong he had been! How well he had protected her, with never a quiver of his sturdy frame while those monster trains leaped by! How little and safe and cared-for she had felt in spite of her fear! And how thoughtful he had been, taking her to get some lunch and planning to cheer her up a little on her first lonely day at the new home! Perhaps mother would not quite think that was proper, for she had warned her many times to have nothing to do with strange young men, but, then, mother surely would understand if she could see him. He was a perfect gentleman, if he did wear blue jean overalls: and besides, they would never likely see each other again. What possible harm could a whistle and a white towel banging out a window do? He wouldn't likely do it but once, and, of course, she wouldn't; and it was pleasant to feel that there was someone to whom she could appeal if anything really frightened her, which, of course, there wouldn't. And, anyhow, he had saved her life and she must be polite to him.