Danger Signals | Page 9

household expenses and taxes,
clothe herself and two children, and send the children to school. The
oldest, a girl of some sixteen years, was away at normal school, and the

boy, about thirteen or fourteen, was at home, going to the public school
and wearing out more clothes than all the rest of the family.
Dillon told me that they had agreed on the financial plan followed in
the family before their marriage, and he used to say that for the life of
him he did not see how "mother" got along so well on the allowance.
When he drew a small month's pay he would say to me, as we walked
home: "No cream in the coffee this month, Jack." If it was unusually
large, he would say: "Plum duff and fried chicken for a Sunday dinner."
He insisted that he could detect the rate of his pay in the food, but this
was not true--it was his kind of fun. "Mother" and I were fast friends.
She became my banker, and when I wanted an extra dollar, I had to ask
her for it and tell what I wanted it for, and all that.
Along late in November, Jim had to make an extra one night on another
engine, which left me at home alone with "mother" and the boy--I had
never seen the girl--and after swearing me to be both deaf, dumb, and
blind, "mother" told me a secret. For ten years she had been saving
money out of her allowance, until the amount now reached nearly
$2,000. She knew of Jim's life ambition to own a farm, and she had the
matter in hand, if I would help her. Of course I was head over heels into
the scheme at once. She wanted to buy the farm near M----, and give
Jim the deed for a Christmas present; and Jim mustn't even suspect.
Jim never did.
The next trip I had to buy some underclothes: would "mother" tell me
how to pick out pure wool? Why, bless your heart, no, she wouldn't,
but she'd just put on her things and go down with me. Jim smoked and
read at home.
We went straight to the bank where Jim kept his money, asked for the
President, and let him into the whole plan. Would he take $2,100 out of
Jim's money, unbeknown to Jim, and pay the balance of the price of the
farm over what "mother" had?
No, he would not; but he would advance the money for the
purpose--have the deeds sent to him, and he would pay the price--that

was fixed.
Then I hatched up an excuse and changed off with the fireman on the
M---- branch, and spent the best part of two lay-overs fixing up things
with the owner of the farm and arranging to hold back the recording of
the deeds until after Christmas. Every evening there was some part of
the project to be talked over, and "mother" and I held many whispered
conversations. Once Jim, smiling, observed that, if I had any hair on
my face, he would be jealous.
I remember that it was on the 14th day of December, 1863, that payday
came. I banked my money with "mother," and Jim, as usual, counted
out his half to that dear old financier.
"Uncle Sam'd better put that 'un in the hospital," observed Jim, as he
came to a ragged ten-dollar bill. "Goddess of Liberty pretty near got her
throat cut there; guess some reb has had hold of her," he continued, as
he held up the bill. Then laying it down, he took out his pocket-book
and cut off a little three-cornered strip of pink court-plaster, and made
repairs on the bill.
"Mother" pocketed her money greedily, and before an hour I had that
very bill in my pocket to pay the recording fees in the courthouse at
M----.
The next day Jim wanted to use more money than he had in his pocket,
and asked me to lend him a dollar. As I opened my wallet to oblige him,
that patched bill showed up. Jim put his finger on it, and then turning
me around towards him, he said: "How came you by that?"
I turned red--I know I did--but I said, cool enough, "'Mother' gave it to
me in change."
"That's a lie," he said, and turned away.
The next day we were more than two-thirds of the way home before he
spoke; then, as I straightened up after a fire, he said: "John Alexander,
when we get in, you go to Aleck (the foreman) and get changed to

some other engine."
There was a queer look on his face; it was not anger, it was not
sorrow--it was more like pain. I looked the man straight in