The Depot Master. Joseph Crosby Lincoln

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       Joseph Crosby Lincoln

      The Depot Master

      Published by Good Press, 2019

       [email protected]

      EAN 4057664567543

Table of Contents

       CHAPTER I

       AT THE DEPOT

       CHAPTER II

       SUPPLY AND DEMAND

       CHAPTER III

       “STINGY GABE”

       CHAPTER IV

       THE MAJOR

       CHAPTER V

       A BABY AND A ROBBERY

       CHAPTER VI

       AVIATION AND AVARICE

       CHAPTER VII

       CAPTAIN SOL DECIDES TO MOVE

       CHAPTER VIII

       THE OBLIGATIONS OF A GENTLEMAN

       CHAPTER IX

       THE WIDOW BASSETT

       CHAPTER X

       CAPTAIN JONADAB GOES

       CHAPTER XI

       IN THE GREAT METROPOLIS

       CHAPTER XII

       A VISION SENT

       CHAPTER XIII

       DUSENBERRY'S BIRTHDAY

       CHAPTER XIV

       EFFIE'S FATE

       CHAPTER XV

       THE “HERO” AND THE COWBOY

       CHAPTER XVI

       THE CRUISE OF THE RED CAR

       CHAPTER XVII

       ISSY'S REVENGE

       CHAPTER XVIII

       THE MOUNTAIN AND MAHOMET

CHAPTER I

       Table of Contents

AT THE DEPOT

       Table of Contents

      Mr. Simeon Phinney emerged from the side door of his residence and paused a moment to light his pipe in the lee of the lilac bushes. Mr. Phinney was a man of various and sundry occupations, and his sign, nailed to the big silver-leaf in the front yard, enumerated a few of them. “Carpenter, Well Driver, Building Mover, Cranberry Bogs Seen to with Care and Dispatch, etc., etc.,” so read the sign. The house was situated in “Phinney's Lane,” the crooked little byway off “Cross Street,” between the “Shore Road” at the foot of the slope and the “Hill Boulevard”—formerly “Higgins's Roost”—at the top. From the Phinney gate the view was extensive and, for the most part, wet. The hill descended sharply, past the “Shore Road,” over the barren fields and knolls covered with bayberry bushes and “poverty grass,” to the yellow sand of the beach and the gray, weather-beaten fish-houses scattered along it. Beyond was the bay, a glimmer in the sunset light.

      Mrs. Phinney, in the kitchen, was busy with the supper dishes. Her husband, wheezing comfortably at his musical pipe, drew an ancient silver watch from his pocket and looked at its dial. Quarter past six. Time to be getting down to the depot and the post office. At least a dozen male citizens of East Harniss were thinking that very thing at that very moment. It was a community habit of long standing to see the train come in and go after the mail. The facts that the train bore no passengers in whom you were intimately interested, and that you expected no mail made little difference. If you were a man of thirty or older, you went to the depot or the “club,” just as your wife or sisters went to the sewing circle, for sociability and mild excitement. If you were a single young man you went to the post office for the same reason that you attended prayer meeting. If you were a single young lady you went to the post office and prayer meeting to furnish a reason for the young man.

      Mr. Phinney, replacing his watch in his pocket, meandered to the sidewalk and looked down the hill and along the length of the “Shore Road.” Beside the latter highway stood a little house, painted a spotless white, its window blinds a vivid green. In that house dwelt, and dwelt alone, Captain Solomon Berry, Sim Phinney's particular friend. Captain Sol was the East Harniss depot master and, from long acquaintance, Mr.