Argosy All-Story Weekly, June 27, 1925 — page 26: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

“ Why, hello, Zeb! I didn’t know you. All dressed in overalls, red handkerchief, and gtoves. What—what are you doing?” she asked, puazaled. In a few words Zeb explained proudly. “Tm a railroadin’. A larnin’ the road. Im a goin’ to be a fireman.” A look of approbation from the girl that made Zeb’s heart thump a bit faster, and be continued: ‘“ Pap's a loaferin’ over thar at the station, and I don’t aim fer him to kotch up with me. He don’t keer much about me workin’ out. Will you-al! go up thar to my maw and tell her ye seed me, and I'm all right and a workin’ and—and— Give her this yere money.” Pulling out the ten-dollar bill intact that Jim had given him. “And,” he added quickly, “ tell her not to say a word to pap about hit. Jest keep hit fer herself and I'll be a sendin’ word to her every wunst in a while.” “Yes, I'll do as you say, Zeb,” she re- plied. ‘I’m going up the hill now, a dew- berrying, and ['ll stop by and give her your message.” The whistle on the engine ahead sound- ed two long blasts. When Zeb turned to leave, she said hur- riedly, “My, but you’re the proud one, going railroading, aren’t you?” Zeb started to speak, could not find the words to say, and with a hasty, “ Thank you, kindly, Itchy-Witchy. I’ll be a seein’ you all along,” he trotted back to the en- gine. Jim was standing in the gangway when Zeb came alongside the tender. “Qh, ob!” he greeted playfully. ‘“‘ Who’s the jane you were chewing the fat with out there, zeb? Why didn’t you give me a Shake down to her?” Zeb climbed aboard before answering. “Jim, that thar warn’t no jane. That's Itchy-Witchy, and I was just askin’ her to take word to maw fer me.” Jim noted the earmest face, stopped a minute before replying. ‘‘ Zeb, old-timer, I didn't mean nothing. Let it go by like you never heard me, won't you?” Zeb laughed. “I knowed ye were not a throwin’ off, but Itchy-Witchy is—well, jest Itchy-Witchy.”’ The 817 barked loud, and the local ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. moved away from Ecclefechan. Zeb put in @ fire, got up on the seat box and looked back up the mountain side toward his home. A figure appeared on the road at the edge of the bottom. Zeb waved his hand. A flutter of a white handkerchief replied, and the local turned a curve, cut- ting out the view. Itchy-Witchy had waved to him. The local pulled into the siding and wait- ed for No. 16. Zeb scarcely heard the whistle of the passenger, scarcely noticed the flash of the cars as they rattled by, for his eyes held the image of a girl with a thick wealth of golden hair, red cheeked, with white teeth and a low, soft voice. And the words she had spoken, “‘ My, but you’re the proud one,” turned until he fancied their meaning was that she, not he, was the one who was glad at his new found post- tion. The local ran ahead, took the switch onto the Y, anc backed down on the main line again, turning for its return trip. Zeb was doing the firing now. He had caught the knack. It was not so difficult to keep up the head of steam, and he was not exerting himself one-half as much as he had in the morning. It was easy. He put in a couple of fires and looked out at Ecclefechan again coming into view. The station was deserted. Zeb gave a searching glance for his father, but he was not to be seen. Neither was Itchy-Witchy, he realized with a little sinking feeling. Funny, he thought, often as he had seen her before, he. never felt this way about her. The mountain boy in patched home- spun had considered her, the only daugh- ter of a wealthy “ furriner,” entirely out- side his plane of life. But now he was no longer a “ poor white trash.” He was a railroader. Many things that were inconceivable and beyond him before, were attainable. He would buy good clothes, save his money, build a home at the terminal, take his mother and sisters in, and live like a king. And perhaps, the thought was followed by the wish, Itchy- Witchy, perhaps, some time when he was an engineer. But he quickly dismissed it, for green as he was to the ways of the road, CON () 1A@OO SS Co