one in the morning
Yes , I 'll hold the line . '' Silence for a long , long minute . Elmendorf could hear his heart thumping loud . What on earth could Allison be doing at the dépôt of the P.Q. & R. at one in the morning ? The tracks of the road in a dozen places between the station and the suburbs were piled high with wrecked freight-cars at nine o'clock . The beautiful Silver Special , scheduled to leave each night at eleven-thirty , had been stalled there since the strike began , yet rumor had it that the management meant to launch it southwestward , mails , express , buffet , chair-car , and sleepers complete , if they had to cram its roofs and platforms with deputies armed with Winchesters . Could it be that already wrecking-trains were clearing a passage , and that this hated train , the reddest rag that could be flaunted in the face of the raging bull of the strike , was to burst the blockade and cover the strikers with derision ?