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the flood in the cut, he thought the "bow plates" were going to buckle. Bob likened Jim's holding the raincoat over the open grille to the Dutch boy who stuck his arm in the hole in the dike and saved the day. Good old Jim was doing his best and Bob, who was doing practically nothing, could make a lot of fun of him.

Old Charlie Hess took no chances on the west side of Hell Gate; he hit the foot of the grade at 50 MPH and we made it nicely. And all this wild running was done in a rain so blinding that Charlie had to work the windshield wiper for all he was worth for the engineer to even see the signals. We eased down the east side and stopped near Oak Point. And there we stayed for three hours!

At first, we thought they were merely holding us for #176 ("The Senator" with Didoe). Then we realized we would be right into the commuter traffic jam. The wind and rain were wild. People could scarcely walk along the streets below us. Umbrellas went inside out everywhere we looked. It was getting colder and wilder and wetter all the time. We were cold, our feet wet, and we weren't too cheerful. Then, after Bob had been campaigning to leave the engine, go to town, and Jim had said he could if he wanted to, but he, Jim, would  stick with it all night if necessary, we got word that we were through. Orders were that 0364 nor any other freight train would be allowed on the main line tonight, the wires were down at Stamford, #11 was the last train to leave New Haven around 1 PM, and things were completely demoralized. We would remain where we were for an hour, and then maybe they would put us in the yard if they could find room for us. Availing ourselves of the chance, we beat it for a

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