Clifton High School - Rotunda Yearbook (Clifton, NJ)

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THE REFLECTOR The Lonely Watch at Lonesome GEORGE EFFINGWELL, known to all the throttle-pullers S' on the Mountain Division as EfHe, was tower operator at Lonesome Y.', His shift, from six oiclock in the evening until three in the morning, when the sky was darkest, was T 'A U known throughout the division as uthe lonely watch at Lone- some. He had no one to talk to. It was four miles from the neat rows of houses that sheltered the population of Mesquiteg furthermore, the rail- road authorities did not permit Efhe to have visitors. He could not read, there was no time, and he must be on the job. He must keep an un- failing eye out for an occasional freight, now loaded with bleating cattle, or just a lifeless string of tanks, it made no difference-they all had to go through. And in order to go through they all had to pass lone- some Y.,' He always said a few Words to the man whom he relieved, but from then on it was utter silence until his relief appeared at three. Now and then he would hold silent communication with a passing trainman by a wave of the hand. It made no difference whether it was a long freight, Coughing and grunting up the slight grade to the mountain run, or a roaring express, shadowed by a long line of darkened Pullmansg all pass- ing trainmen would lean out of the cab to shake a friendly hand at Efhe as their trains sped by the tower. The whole division depended on Effie, and he knew it. Effie was proud of his job. The switchboard before him was always spotless. Even the low-hanging, green-shaded lights received a nightly dusting. His desk chair was his throne, and he was king of the mountain division. Effie had a quiet, true friend. This friend never spoke to him, but it served as his only comrade the whole night through. It was a friend whose expressionless face gazed at him hour after hour, and assured him that all was well on the mountain division. It was Effie's clock. It was a plain square mahogany box with a small, round, white face, and silver hands. He knew that when those small hands pointed to six- forty-five the long white beam of the Pacific Flyer would hurtle into view and disappear down the smooth rails into the twilight. At seven- thirty the hands told him that the Limited was on time on its race east- ward. And so on through the night. The mountain division depended upon Eflie, and Efhe depended upon his clock. That was why Effie had developed a peculiar affection for that clock. It was the talk of the mountain division. Whenever EfHe's name was mentioned on the line, a mention was always made of his clock. One summer night Efhe swung up the winding trail that was a short cut from town, over and across the maze of tracks at the Y, and stopped to rest at the foot of the tower to wipe his freely perspiring Ten

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THE REFLECTOR forehead. Caswell, the man on duty before Elie, opened the door at the top of the stairs and came out on the landing. What's the matter, Effie? he called out genially. Isn't it hot enough for you? Gosh, 1,11 say so, was Effie's reply. I guess summer is here to stay all right. You look like an old mop ready to be wrung out, laughed Caswell. By the way, I've got a surprise for you. The electrical gang was down here today and they brought us a present. Come up and see it. Effie picked up his lunch pail and, tucking his coat under his arm, climbed upward to the door of the operating room. He stepped inside casually, then stood there, his pail dangling by his side. A cloud of anger crossed his face. Nearly set up on the opposite wall of the room was a new electric clock. It was firmly bolted to the wall. W'ho ordered this thing? he snorted, throwing down his coat. You've got me, answered Caswell. The gang came up here with an order to install it. That's all I know. Well, it's been hot as the dickens up here today, and l'm tired. Yeah, EH'ie grunted, but he did not take his eye from the new clock. Well, I'm going, Effie. I left the night specials on your desk. G'night, growled Eflie, making a face at the offensive newcomer. Hanging up his coat and putting away his lunch, Effie procured his dustcloth and commenced his cleanup of engine smoke dust that formed a film over everything. Affectionately he picked up the little mahogany clock on his desk and carefully dusted it, breathing on the glass dial, and polishing it with his handkerchief until it shone like a jewel. Well, you're still here, old clock, he said, addressing the time- piece. And you're going to stay here as long as I do. The clock ticked back a merry answer that only Efhe could under- stand, and he carefully replaced it. He went on with his dusting. With this task finished, he sat down and commenced to look over the night specials. As he shuffled the cards slowly, he suddenly stopped and whistled. Well, we're going to have some work tonight, old boy, he said, addressing the time-piece. See this card. It says: 12:15 a. m. Crest to Charlotteville, armoured train. Due at Lonesome 'Y' at 12:22 a. m. You know what that means, old sock. They're going to run some gold on the division tonight. And listen to this one. Western route blocked by landslide. Western mail, train No. 27, will proceed by way of Lone- some 'Y' on mountain division. Due at 'Y' at 1:07 a. m. Hold western mail at 'Y' to give train No. 8, the Cannonball, the right of way. Twilight was fast descending on the Y, Eflie glanced at his clock. It was six forty three. He got to his feet, and, grasping two of the levers Eleven