The Iron Horse

“Yes, and we got hold of that thief too, the day before yesterday,” replied Mr Sharp. “I felt sure, from the way in which the theft was committed, that it must be one of our own men, and so it turned out. He had cut open a bale and taken out several muffs and boas of first-rate sable. One set of ’em he gave to his sweetheart, who was seen wearing them in church on Sunday. I just went to her and said I was going to put a question to her, and warned her to speak the truth, as it would be worse for all parties concerned if she attempted to deceive me. I then asked her if she had got the muff and boa from Jim Croydon, the porter. She blushed scarlet, and admitted it at once, but said, poor thing, that she had no idea they had been stolen, and I believe her. This case occurred just after I had watched the milk-truck the other night for three hours, and found that the thief who had been helping himself to it every morning for some weeks past was the watchman at the station.”

“I fear there are a great many bad fellows amongst us,” said Tipps, shaking his head.

“You are quite mistaken,” replied the superintendent. “There were a good many bad fellows, but I flatter myself that there are very few now in proportion to the number of men on the line. We are constantly winnowing them out, purifying the ore, as it were, so that we are gradually getting rid of all the dross, and leaving nothing but sterling metal on the line. Why, Mr Tipps, you surely don’t expect that railways are to be exempted from black sheep any more than other large companies. Just look at the army and navy, and see what a lot of rascals have to be punished and drummed out of the service every now and then. Same everywhere. Why, when I consider that we employ over twenty thousand men and boys, and that these men and boys are tempted, more almost than any other class of people, by goods lying about constantly in large quantities in the open air, and in all sorts of lonely and out-of-the-way places, my surprise is that our bad men are so few. No doubt we shall always have one or two prowling about, and may occasionally alight on a nest of ’em, but we shall manage to keep ’em down—to winnow them out faster, perhaps, than they come in. I am just going about some little pieces of business of that sort now,” added Mr Sharp; putting on his hat. “Did you wish to speak with me about anything in particular, Mr Tipps?”

“Yes; I wished to ask you if that fat woman, Mrs —, what’s her name?”

“You mean Mrs Podge, I suppose?” suggested Sharp; “she who kicked her heels so vigorously at Langrye after the accident.”

“Ah! Mrs Podge—yes. Does she persist in her ridiculous claim for damages?”

“She does, having been urged to do so by some meddling friend; for I’m quite sure that she would never have thought of doing so herself, seeing that she received no damage at all beyond a fright. I’m going to pay her a visit to-day in reference to that very thing.”

“That’s all right; then I won’t detain you longer. Good-bye, Mr Sharp,” said Tipps, putting on his hat and quitting the office.

Not long afterwards, Mr Sharp knocked at the door of a small house in one of the suburbs of Clatterby, and was ushered into the presence of Mrs Podge. That amiable lady was seated by the fire knitting a stocking.

“Good afternoon, Mrs Podge,” said Mr Sharp, bowing and speaking in his blandest tones. “I hope I see you quite well?”

Mrs Podge, charmed with the stranger’s urbanity, wished him good afternoon, admitted that she was quite well, and begged him to be seated.

“Thank you, Mrs Podge,” said Mr Sharp, complying. “I have taken the liberty of calling in regard to a small matter of business—but pardon me,” he added, rising and shutting the door, “I inadvertently left the door open, which is quite inexcusable in me, considering your delicate state of health. I trust that—”

“My delicate state of health!” exclaimed Mrs Podge, who was as fat as a prize pig, and rather piqued herself on her good looks and vigour of body.

“Yes,” continued Mr Sharp, in a commiserating tone; “I have understood, that since the accident on the railway your—”

“Oh, as to that,” laughed Mrs Podge, “I’m not much the worse of—but, sir,” she said, becoming suddenly grave, “you said you had called on business?”

“I did. My business is to ask,” said Mr Sharp, with a very earnest glance of his penetrating eyes, “on what ground you claim compensation from the Grand National Trunk Railway?”

Instantly Mrs Podge’s colour changed. She became languid, and sighed.

“Oh, sir—damages—yes—my nerves! I did not indeed suffer much damage in the way of cuts or bruises, though there was a good piece of skin torn off my elbow, which I could show you if it were proper to—but my nerves received a terrible shock. They have not yet recovered. Indeed, your abrupt way of putting it has quite—thrown a—”

As Mrs Podge exhibited some symptoms of a hysterical nature at this point Mr Sharp assumed a very severe expression of countenance, and said—

“Now, Mrs Podge, do you really think it fair or just, to claim damages from a company, from whom you have absolutely received no damage?”

“But sir,” said Mrs Podge, recovering, “my nerves did receive damage.”

“I do not doubt it Mrs Podge, but we cannot compensate you for that. If you had been laid up, money could have repaid you for lost time, or, if your goods had been damaged, it might have compensated for that but money cannot restore shocked nerves. Did you require medical attendance?”

“N–no!” said Mrs Podge, reddening. “A friend did indeed insist on my seeing a doctor, to whom, at his suggestion, I gave a fee of five shillings, but to say truth I did not require him.”

“Ha! was it the same friend who advised you to claim compensation?”

“Ye–es!” replied Mrs Podge, a little confused.

“Well, Mrs Podge, from your own admission I rather think that there seems something like a fraudulent attempt to obtain money here. I do not for a moment hint that you are guilty of a fraudulent intention, but you must know, ma’am, that the law takes no notice of intentions—only of facts.”

“But have I not a right to expect compensation for the shock to my nervous system?” pleaded Mrs Podge, still unwilling to give in.

“Certainly not, ma’am, if the shock did not interfere with your ordinary course of life or cause you pecuniary loss. And does it not seem hard on railways, if you can view the subject candidly, to be so severely punished for accidents which are in many eases absolutely unavoidable? Perfection is not to be attained in a moment. We are rapidly decreasing our risks and increasing our safeguards. We do our best for the safety and accommodation of the public, and as directors and officials travel by our trains as frequently as do the public, concern for our own lives insures that we work the line in good faith. Why, ma’am, I was myself near the train at the time of the accident at Langrye, and my nerves were considerably shaken. Moreover, there was a director with his daughter in the train, both of whom were severely shaken, but they do not dream of claiming damages on that account. If you could have shown, Mrs Podge, that you had suffered loss of any kind, we should have offered you compensation promptly, but as things stand—”

“Well, well,” exclaimed Mrs Podge, testily. “I suppose I must give it up, but I don’t see why railway companies should be allowed to shock my nerves and then refuse to give me any compensation!”

“But we do not absolutely refuse all compensation,” said Mr Sharp, drawing out his purse; “if a sovereign will pay the five shilling fee of your doctor, and any other little expenses that you may have incurred, you are welcome to it.”

Mrs Podge extended her hand, Mr Sharp dropped the piece of gold into it, and then, wishing her good afternoon, quitted the house.

The superintendent of police meditated, as he walked smartly away from Mrs Podge, on the wonderful differences that were to be met with in mankind, as to the matter of acquisitiveness, and his mind reverted to a visit he had paid some time before, to another of the passengers in the train to which the accident occurred. This was the commercial traveller who had one of his legs rather severely injured. He willingly showed his injured limb to our superintendent, when asked to do so, but positively declined to accept of any compensation whatever, although it was offered, and appeared to think himself handsomely treated when a few free passes were sent to him by the manager.

Contrasting Mrs Podge unfavourably with this rare variety of the injured human race, Mr Sharp continued his walk until he reached a part of the line, not far from the station, where a large number of vans and waggons were shunted on to sidings,—some empty, others loaded,—waiting to be made up into trains and forwarded to their several destinations.

Chapter Eleven.

Sharp Practice—Continued

Mr Sharp had several peculiarities, which, at first sight, might have puzzled a stranger. He was peculiar in his choice of routes by which to reach a given spot appearing frequently to prefer devious, difficult, and unfrequented paths to straight and easy roads. In the time of his visits to various places, too, he was peculiarly irregular, and seemed rather to enjoy taking people by surprise.

On the present occasion his chief peculiarity appeared to be a desire to approach the station by a round-about road. In carrying out his plans he went round the corner of a house, from which point of view he observed a goods train standing near a goods-shed with an engine attached. In order to reach it he had the choice of two routes. One of these was through a little wicket-gate, near to which a night-watchman was stationed—for the shades of evening were by that time descending on the scene, the other was through a back yard, round by a narrow lane and over a paling, which it required more than an average measure of strength and agility to leap. Mr Sharp chose the latter route. What were palings and narrow lanes and insecure footing in deepening gloom to him! Why, he rejoiced in such conditions! He didn’t like easy work. He abhorred a bed of roses—not that he had ever tried one, although it is probable that he had often enjoyed a couch of grass, straw, or nettles. Rugged circumstances were his glory. It was as needful for him to encounter such—in his winnowing processes—as it is for the harrow to encounter stones in preparing the cultivated field. Moving quietly but swiftly round by the route before mentioned Mr Sharp came suddenly on the night-watchman.

“Good-evening, Jim.”

“Evenin’, sir.”

“Keep your eyes open to-night, Jim. We must find out who it is that has taken such a fancy to apples of late.”

“I will, sir; I’ll keep a sharp look-out.”

It was Jim’s duty to watch that locality of the line, where large quantities of goods of all descriptions were unavoidably left to wait for a few hours on sidings. Such watchmen are numerous on all lines; and very necessary, as well as valuable, men most of them are—fellows who hold the idea of going to rest at regular hours in quiet contempt; men who sleep at any time of the night or day that chances to be most convenient, and who think no more of a hand-to-hand scuffle with a big thief or a burglar than they do of eating supper. Nevertheless, like every other class of men in this wicked world, there are black sheep amongst them too.

“Is that train going up to the station just now, Jim?” asked Mr Sharp, pointing to the engine, whose gentle simmering told of latent energy ready for immediate use.

“I believe so, sir.”

“I’ll go up with her. Good-night.”

Mr Sharp crossed the line, and going towards the engine found that the driver and fireman were not upon it. He knew, however, that they could not be far off—probably looking after something connected with their train—and that they would be back immediately; he climbed up to the foot-plate and sat down on the rail. He there became reflective, and recalled, with some degree of amusement as well as satisfaction, some of the more recent incidents of his vocation. He smiled as he remembered how, not very far from where he sat, he had on a cloudy evening got into a horse-box, and boring a hole in it with a gimlet, applied his eye thereto,—his satellite David Blunt doing the same in another end of the same horse-box, and how, having thus obtained a clear view of a truck in which several casks of wine were placed, he beheld one of the servants on the line in company with one of his friends who was not a servant on the line, coolly bore a hole in one of the wine casks and insert a straw, and, by that means, obtain a prolonged and evidently satisfactory draught—which accounted at once for the fact that wine had been leaking in that locality for some time past, and that the said servant had been seen more than once in a condition that was deemed suspicious.

Mr Sharp also reflected complacently—and he had time to reflect, for the driver and fireman were rather long of coming—on another case in which the thieves were so wary that for a long time he could make nothing of them, although their depredations were confined to a train that passed along the line at a certain hour, but at last were caught in consequence of his hitting on a plan of having a van specially prepared for himself. He smiled again—almost laughed when he thought of this van—how it was regularly locked and labelled on a quiet siding; how a plank was loosened in the bottom of it, by which means he got into it, and was then shunted out, and attached to the train, so that neither guard, nor driver, nor fireman, had any idea of what was inside; how he thereafter bored several small gimlet holes in the various sides of the van and kept a sharp look-out from station to station as they went along; how at last he came to the particular place—not a station, but a place where a short pause was made—where the wary thieves were; how he saw them—two stout fellows—approach in the gloom of evening and begin their wicked work of cutting tarpaulings and abstracting goods; how he thereupon lifted his plank and dropped out on the line, and how he powerfully astonished them by laying his hands on their collars and taking them both in the very act!

At last Mr Sharp’s entertaining reflections were interrupted by the approach of the driver of the engine, who carried a top-coat over his left arm.

As he drew near and observed who stood upon his engine, the man gave an involuntary and scarcely perceptible start.

There must have been something peculiarly savage and ungenerous in the breast of Mr Sharp, one would have thought, to induce him to suspect a man whose character was blameless. But he did suspect that man on the faith of that almost imperceptible touch of discomposure, and his suspicion did not dissipate although the man came boldly and respectfully forward.