Night Flyer

Near Syracuse, along the tracks of the New York Central, a night flyer sped westward. No whistles blew. No bell sounded. Faster and faster it glided, past green lights at little stations, red lights at crossings; and the clicking of the ties became a dreamy foxtrot drumming in the ears of people who twisted on lumpy mattresses in small green coffins in its shadowy Pullman cars. A suddenly frightened fireman stared out at the flying night, then made his way forward and peered into the engine cab. At the throttle was a hand-- the steady hand of Engineer William Vanbergen, but the body of Engineer William Vanbergen sagged on the floor, and a grey ooze trickled down the side of his sightless face. Engineer William Vanbergen had crushed in his skull 15 miles back against a steel bridge stanchion.