Ed first makes sure no one can overhear, then tells Ben about this conspiracy, showing him the false report that has been smuggled into the files in place of the real one Ben had sent in.  It takes Ben a couple of minutes to get the idea of what Ed is so worked up over.  But he finally does get it.  He then sweeps all ideas of a conspiracy out of Ed’s mind forever.  He says his talk is all nonsense; that this here is the very report he made, every word of it; and, as to that, if he had it to write over again he could shorten it by at least six words, but he must of been excited at the time.  He says he has already told Ed that the Old Man complimented him on it because he hadn’t lost his head and got hysterical, showing he had the makings of a good railroad man in him.  And what had Ed expected, anyway?  Didn’t he know that your superiors want the simple facts in cases of this kind and no fancy work, wanting chiefly to know about damage to the rolling stock and how long before the main line will be open?  Ed must be crazy, making him get a lay-off just for this!  Had he looked for some verses of poetry about his accident, or a novel?  Ben wasn’t any novelist and wouldn’t be one if you give him a chance.  He was just a brakeman, with a bright future before him.

Ben was quite indignant himself by this time thinking of two days’ pay lost, and Ed could hardly believe his own ears.  He just set there, swelling up like a toad in a very feverish way.  “But ‘some distance,’” says Ed in low tones of awe.  “You say I was thrown ‘some distance,’ like it was a casual remark.  Is that any way to talk about a man hurled two hundred and thirty-five feet from start to finish?—­which I can prove by the man that taped it.  Why, any one would think them two cheap box cars was the real heroes of this accident.  No one would dream that a precious human life was at stake.  And ‘Not serious!’ And ‘Head cut some!’ Great suffering cats!  Was that any way to talk about a fellowman—­not to say a first cousin?”

Ben was pretty mad himself now and swore right out—­at least the only oath he ever swears, which is “By doggie!” He says, by doggie, it ain’t his fault that Ed was so brittle!  And, by doggie, he wasn’t going to let family affection interfere none with his career, because it wouldn’t be right by the children he hopes some day to be the father of!  Then he got his temper back and tried patiently to explain once more to Ed that what a railroad company wants in such cases is facts and figures, and not poetry—­chiefly about the rolling stock.  He says Ed can’t expect a great corporation, with heavy freight and passenger traffic, to take any deep personal interest in the bone troubles of a mere brakeman.

It was about here, I guess, that Ed’s feelings must of overcome him.  He saw it was no use bandying words any more; so he started to do foul murder.  He committed several acts of frightfulness on Ben with his crutch, seeming quite active for a cripple.  Ben finally got out of range and went and had some stitches took in his own scalp.  He swore, by doggie, he was through with that maniac forever!  But he wasn’t through.  Not by no means!