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— Yo-Yo
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ThFTT
1LL
The
Class
History
of Science ‘31
DARK night and a full moon, a can opener, and a bottle of —
said Mickey, as he staggered out of Schultz’s saloon, “I
gotta get to that hop at Martin’s Hall.” Whereupon he increased his
velocity according to the law F==MA, and reached the joint 3.88884
minutes before the end of the dance (work done R(T—T.) “Hey,
Dobson, show Scott the way home,” yelled Cornwall as he gave Green
the bounce. Then the rest of the gang of Sc. ‘31, who, because of the
business depression could only get jobs as Civils, tumbled out. “C’mon
home, gang,” says Try Smith, “we gotta get to the bunkhouse before
morning.”
1’Hell,”
Silence. The same full moon looked down upon a now peaceful
scene—the same can opener and bottle of —
The smouldering sun rose above the western planes, to gaze only
upon a row of tents and empty bottles. Crash! Bang! The silence was
broken by a synchronous snore from Crawford and Anderson, aided by
Barratt’s alarm clock, and the bunch rolled out to stretch the endless
chain of steel yet another mile across the unbroken desert. “Here’s your
mush, gang,” called Buckland. Then Stew Terhune strolled up.
“What’s doing to-day, boss?” asked Hill. “Hey, Nesbitt, take those
two bums, Esterbrook and Plant, and complete the survey to Bellingham,
and you, Mathews, sling the gang in the mulligan car and take ‘em to
the rail head.”
Half way there Nelems woke up and for some reason or other asked
Murray for the next dance.
On reaching the scene of the daily grind, Sandy Smith yelled “S—C
31, 31, 31—hike.” Alpen made a fake pass with a rail to Munn, who
went down with a tie around his neck. Cruise converted. Then Wright,
the grade boss, yelled from the caboose, “The next curve will be
(8 +e Cos B) +C, and don’t put the ties too close together; they cost
money.”
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Then Terhune, the boss, rode up on his bicycle, yelled to Rumsey
to put that — in his pocket or he’d go to bed without supper—
then, “What the’ — ,“ says he, “the — — track’s upside down, flop the
— thing over. But Munroe comes back with, “Your azimuth’s out of
phase, boss, the track’s O.K., but you’ve had one quart too much.
On the horizon a rising cloud of dust grew larger, and Evans burst
from it. Hardly had he come within sight when he yelled, “Get on your
strips, fellahs, and make a dash for Bellingham. The survey gang have
tied in so tight that they can’t drag themselves away and we’ll have to
help them.
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