The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley :: :: University of Virginia Library

Folks tell me, that Christmas-Tree,
Dance and whole blame' jamboree,
Looked like it was goin' to be
A blood-curdlin' tragedy.
People 'long the roads, you know—
Well, they've had experience
With all sorts of accidents,
And they've learnt some things,—and so
When an accident or wreck
Happens, they know some man's “break”
Is responsible, and hence—
Well—they want to break his neck!
So it happened, Christmas-eve,
At Roachdale,—MacClintock there
Cocked back in the barber-chair
At eight-forty, and no train
Down yet from the Knob, and it
Due at eight-ten sharp. The strain
Was a-showin' quite a bit

1907

On the general crowd; and when
Purty soon the rumor spread—
Wreck had probably occurred—
Some one said somebody said
That he'd heard somebody say,
“Operator at the Glen
Was to blame for the delay—
Fact is, he had run away
From his office—Even then
Was in Roachdale—there to be
Present at the Christmas-Tree
And the ‘shindig’ afterward,
Wreck or no wreck!” ... Mac sat up,
Whiter than the shavin'-cup. ...
Back of his face in the glass
He stared into he could see
A big crowd there—and, alas!
Not in all that threatening throng
One friend's face of sympathy—
One friend knowin' right from wrong!
He got on his feet—erect—
Nervy;—faced the crowd, and then
Said: “I am MacClintock from
The Glen-office, and I've come
To your Christmas festival
By request of one that all
Of you honor, gentlemen,—
Your most trusted citizen—
Your own operator here
At the station-office—where
He'll acquit me of neglect,

1908

And will make it plain and clear
Who the sub. is he sent there
To my office at the Glen—
Or, if not one there,—who then
Is indeed the criminal? ...
I am going now to call
On him.—Join me, gentlemen—
I insist you come with me.”
Well, a sense of some respect
Caught 'em,—and they followed, all,
Silently, though sullenly.

Fortunately, half a square
Brought 'em to the station and
The crowd there that packed the small
Waiting-room on every hand,
With a kind o' general stand
Round the half-door window through
Which “old Roachy,” in full view,
Sat there, smilin' in a sick
Sort o' way, yet gloryin', too,
In the work he had to do.
Mac worked closer, breathin' quick
At the muttered talk of some
Of the toughest of the crowd;
Till, above the growl and hum
Of the ominous voices, he
Heard the click of “Roachy's” key,—
And his heart beat 'most out 'loud
As he heard him wirin':—“Yes,
Trouble down at Glen, I guess.

1909

Glen's fool-operator here—
What's-his-name?—MacClintock.—Fear
Mob will hang him.—Mob knows he
Left his office.—And no doubt
Wreck there on account of it.
People worked-up here—and shout
Now and then to ‘Take him out!’—
‘Hang him!’—and so forth.” ... Mac lit
Through the half-door window at
“Roachy's” table like a cat:—
He was white, but “Roachy's” face
Made a brunette out o' his! ...
Mac had pinned him in his chair
Helpless—and a message there
Clickin' back from Pilot Knob.—
“Tell these people, word-for-word,”
Mac says, “what this message is!—
“Tell 'em.—Hear me?” “Roachy” heard
And obeyed:—“‘We sized your job
On MacClintock.—Knob here sent
A sub. there.—And all O. K.
At Glen-office.—Tie-up here—
One hour's wait—all fault of mine.
“Hang MacClintock,” did you say?
“Hang MacClintock?”—Certainly,—
Hang him on the Christmas-Tree,
With a label on for me,—
I'll be there on Number Nine.’”