The Beetle Richard Marsh (most romantic novels TXT) đ
- Author: Richard Marsh
Book online «The Beetle Richard Marsh (most romantic novels TXT) đ». Author Richard Marsh
âGeorge!â shrieked Atherton, âhe does mean to earn that fiver. I hope Iâll be alive to pay it him!â
He was only at the other end of the carriage, but though I could see by the distortion of his visage that he was shouting at the top of his voiceâ âand he has a voiceâ âI only caught here and there a word or two of what he was saying. I had to make sense of the whole.
Lessinghamâs contortions were a study. Few of that large multitude of persons who are acquainted with him only by means of the portraits which have appeared in the illustrated papers, would then have recognised the rising statesman. Yet I believe that few things could have better fallen in with his mood than that wild travelling. He might have been almost shaken to piecesâ âbut the very severity of the shaking served to divert his thoughts from the one dread topic which threatened to absorb them to the exclusion of all else beside. Then there was the tonic influence of the element of risk. The pick-me-up effect of a spice of peril. Actual danger there quite probably was none; but there very really seemed to be. And one thing was absolutely certain, that if we did come to smash while going at that speed we should come to as everlasting smash as the heart of man could by any possibility desire. It is probable that the knowledge that this was so warmed the blood in Lessinghamâs veins. At any rate asâ âto use what in this case, was simply a form of speechâ âI sat and watched him, it seemed to me that he was getting a firmer hold of the strength which had all but escaped him, and that with every jog and jolt he was becoming more and more of a man.
On and on we went dashing, clashing, smashing, roaring, rumbling. Atherton, who had been endeavouring to peer through the window, strained his lungs again in the effort to make himself audible.
âWhere the devil are we?â
Looking at my watch I screamed back at him.
âItâs nearly one, so I suppose weâre somewhere in the neighbourhood of Luton.â âHollo! Whatâs the matter?â
That something was the matter seemed certain. There was a shrill whistle from the engine. In a second we were consciousâ âalmost too consciousâ âof the application of the Westinghouse brake. Of all the jolting that was ever jolted! the mere reverberation of the carriage threatened to resolve our bodies into their component parts. Feeling what we felt then helped us to realise the retardatory force which that vacuum brake must be exertingâ âit did not seem at all surprising that the train should have been brought to an almost instant standstill.
Simultaneously all three of us were on our feet. I let down my window and Atherton let down hisâ âhe shouting out,
âI should think that Inspectorâs wire hasnât had its proper effect, looks as if weâre blockedâ âor else weâve stopped at Luton. It canât be Bedford.â
It wasnât Bedfordâ âso much seemed clear. Though at first from my window I could make out nothing. I was feeling more than a trifle dazedâ âthere was a singing in my earsâ âthe sudden darkness was impenetrable. Then I became conscious that the guard was opening the door of his compartment. He stood on the step for a moment, seeming to hesitate. Then, with a lamp in his hand, he descended on to the line.
âWhatâs the matter?â I asked.
âDonât know, sir. Seems as if there was something on the road. Whatâs up there?â
This was to the man on the engine. The fireman replied:
âSomeone in front thereâs waving a red light like madâ âlucky I caught sight of him, we should have been clean on top of him in another moment. Looks as if there was something wrong. Here he comes.â
As my eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness I became aware that someone was making what haste he could along the six-foot way, swinging a red light as he came. Our guard advanced to meet him, shouting as he went:
âWhatâs the matter! Whoâs that?â
A voice replied,
âMy God! Is that George Hewett. I thought you were coming right on top of us!â
Our guard again.
âWhat! Jim Branson! What the devil are you doing here, whatâs wrong? I thought you were on the twelve out, weâre chasing you.â
âAre you? Then youâve caught us. Thank God for it!â âWeâre a wreck.â
I had already opened the carriage door. With that we all three clambered out on to the line.
XLVII The Contents of the Third-Class CarriageI moved to the stranger who was holding the lamp. He was in official uniform.
âAre you the guard of the 12:00 out from St. Pancras?â
âI am.â
âWhereâs your train? Whatâs happened?â
âAs for where it is, there it is, right in front of you, whatâs left of it. As to whatâs happened, why, weâre wrecked.â
âWhat do you mean by youâre wrecked?â
âSome heavy loaded trucks broke loose from a goods in front and came running down the hill on top of us.â
âHow long ago was it?â
âNot ten minutes. I was just starting off down the road to the signal box, itâs a good two miles away, when I saw you coming. My God! I thought there was going to be another smash.â
âMuch damage done?â
âSeems to me as if weâre all smashed up. As far as I can make out theyâre matchboxed up in front. I feel as if I was all broken up inside of me. Iâve been in the service going on for thirty years, and this is the first accident Iâve been in.â
It was too dark to see the manâs face, but judging from his tone he was either crying or very near to it.
Our guard turned and shouted back to our engine,
âYouâd better go back to the box and let âem know!â
âAll right!â came
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