The Red Signal (Grace Livingston Hill Book)
The Red Signal
By
Grace Livingston Hill
Table of Contents
The Red Signal
Liability Disclaimer
Terms of Use
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
About the Author
Fifty Shakes of Matrimony: A Christian Romance
Chapter 1
Liability Disclaimer
By reading this book, you assume all risks associated with using the advice given below, with a full understanding that you, solely, are responsible for anything that may occur as a result of putting this information into action in any way, and regardless of your interpretation of the advice.
You further agree that our company cannot be held responsible in any way for the success or failure of your business as a result of the information presented in this book. It is your responsibility to conduct your own due diligence regarding the safe and successful operation of your business if you intend to apply any of our information in any way to your business operations.
Terms of Use
You are given a non-transferable, “personal use” license to this book. You cannot distribute it or share it with other individuals.
Also, there are no resale rights or private label rights granted when purchasing this book. In other words, it's for your own personal use only.
CHAPTER 1
HILDA LESSING stood hesitating fearfully before the wide expanse of railroad tracks that seemed to be fairly bristling with menacing engines, some moving, some standing still. In her bewilderment she could not be sure which were moving and which were standing still. They all seemed alive; waiting to pounce upon her if she stirred.
The conductor had told her, when he put her off the express, that the other train made good connection, and she had no time to waste. He had pointed across all those tracks, and across them she must go. She made a wild dash, accomplished half the distance, and suddenly found herself snatched from the very teeth of a flying express that had appeared like a comet out of the melee, and held in strong arms against a bit of rail fence that traversed the space between the tracks for a little distance.
It seemed ages that she clung with trembling arms to a big rough shoulder, her body pressed against the fence, one hand still gripping the suitcase jammed between her and the fence, while an interminable train rushed, car after car, past her reeling brain, the hot breath of its going blasting her cheeks. To add to the horror, another train dashed into sight on the other side of the frail fence and tore along in the opposite direction. She felt like a leaf in a crevice with a great roaring avalanche on either side. If she should let go her feeble hold of the rescuer for a single instant, or if he failed her, she was lost. Her horrified eyes were strained and fascinated with the fearful spectacle till it seemed she could bear it no longer; then she closed them with a shiver and dropped her face to the broad blue jean shoulder that offered the only relief.
The strong arms seemed to hold her closer with a reassuring pressure that comforted her. The rushing of the train was growing less as if some spell had it within control now, and she felt herself lifted and borne swiftly beyond the noise and confusion. She dared not open her eyes until he put her down upon a quiet bench at the far end of the platform away from the crowds.
She dimly felt that people were looking curiously, excitedly, after her, and that the trainmen, with startled faces, were calling out something to her companion; but she paid no heed to any of them. She only saw his face bending solicitously over her, his pleasant eyes so brown and merry, and heard his cheery voice:
“Say, kid, that was a close call! Didn't you know any better than to cross those tracks with both fliers due? Where was the station man, I'd like to know, that he let you start?”
“Oh!” gasped Hilda, turning whiter than ever. “I didn't know! I couldn't find a way across, and I had to make my train!” Then the tears came in a flood of nervous reaction and she dropped her face into her hands and sobbed.
The man in the blue overalls sidled up to her in dismay and put his big arm awkwardly around her, forgetful of his amused comrades not far away.
“There! There! Kid! Don't cry! It's all over, and you're perfectly safe!”
He patted her slender shaking shoulders gently with his big blackened hand, and looked helplessly down at the girl.
“What train were you meaning to take?” he asked with sudden inspiration.
Hilda lifted a pair of drenched blue eyes, large and wide, with a new fear, and started to her feet.
“Oh! The train to Platt's Crossing! Has it gone? I ought to hurry! Which way do I go?”
The young man looked at his watch. He had nice hair and a handsome head. She liked the way the dark curl fell over his white forehead, and the strength of the bronzed neck above the jumper.
“You’ve plenty of time. Number ten isn't due for fifteen minutes. Come over to the restaurant and have a cup of coffee. That'll put some pep into you.”
He seized the suitcase and led the way. She noticed that he did everything as if he were a gentleman. She liked the way he pulled out the chair and seated her at the table. He gave an order for sandwiches, coffee, baked apples and cream. It looked good to her after a night and morning of fasting.
“Do you live at Platt's Crossing?” His brown eyes were fixed pleasantly, respectfully upon her.
“No! That is—I live in Chicago—or I did till father died. I'm going to work at Platt's Crossing.”
She spoke as if it were an unpleasant fact that had not yet become familiar enough to lose the pain of its expression.
“You look young to go to work,” he said kindly, interestedly. “What line? Telephone girl or stenography?”
The color stole up under her clear skin.
“Neither,” she said bravely. “It's a truck farm. They're Germans my uncle knows. I'm to help.
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