Doug’ Jackson, the driver of the Scottsville House ’bus, rose from the edge of the depot platform, hitched up his trousers, and motioned the usual depot loungers back to safety. All were waiting for passenger train No. 22, west bound, due at 11:15 A. M., and late, as usual. “She’s made up seven minutes,” Doug’ announced authoritatively after consulting a large silver watch. “She’s fannin’--git back there, you kids.”…
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