After writing to Andrew I thought I would send a message to
the Professor. I had already written him a long letter in my
mind, but somehow when I began putting it on paper a sort of
awkwardness came over me. I didn't know just how to begin.
I thought how much more fun it would be if he were there
himself and I could listen to him talk. And then, while I was
writing the first few sentences, some of the drummers came
back into the room.
"Thought you'd like to see a Sunday paper," said one of them.
I picked up the newspaper with a word of thanks and ran an eye
over the headlines. The ugly black letters stood up before
me, and my heart gave a great contraction. I felt my
fingertips turn cold.
DISASTROUS WRECK
ON THE SHORE LINE
EXPRESS RUNS INTO OPEN SWITCH
--
TEN LIVES LOST, AND
MORE THAN A SCORE INJURED
--
FAILURE OF BLOCK SIGNALS
The letters seemed to stand up before me as large as a Malted
Milk signboard. With a shuddering apprehension I read the
details. Apparently the express that left Providence at four
o'clock on Saturday afternoon had crashed into an open siding
near Willdon about six o'clock, and collided with a string of
freight empties.
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