The Man Without a Watch Page #2

"The Man Without a Watch" by Charles Battell Loomis is a whimsical and insightful tale that explores the life of a man who, as the title suggests, goes without a timepiece. The narrative delves into themes of time, society, and modern life, portraying how the absence of a watch influences his daily experiences and interactions. Through humor and allegory, Loomis examines the constraints that a rigid adherence to time imposes on individuals, inviting readers to reflect on the nature of time and its impact on human behavior. The book combines light-hearted storytelling with deeper philosophical musings, making it an engaging read for those interested in the quirks of life and the concept of time.

• Short story

								

of the work. He’ll engage me to get rid of me,” laughed Thomas to
himself. Then he continued: “I never heard of a man missing every
train in a day, so I’ll risk calling on Laura before the next one
starts.”

Miss Sedgwick, the one he called Laura, lived out of town near the
railroad track, and two miles nearer New York than Winsonia station.

She was a captivating girl, and when Thomas was in her presence he
never took heed of time. He was lucky enough to find her at home. She
seemed glad to see him, and was much interested in his account of how
near he had come to catching some trains that day; and as nothing
is so engaging as a good listener, the minutes passed on pneumatic
tires. When at last he took note of the hour, it was five o’clock.

“That clock isn’t right, is it?”

“Yes, sir. Father keeps it at railroad time. Mercy! you’ve lost your
train again, haven’t you?”

“Laura, this time it’s bad. I won’t see him to-day, now, and
to-morrow may not do. Let me go and kick myself.”

“I’m awfully sorry, Tom. I hope to-morrow won’t be too late.”

Thomas squeezed her hand and left her, feeling rather blue.

The railroad track was but a block away, and he walked over to it,
not with suicidal intent, but just that he might tantalize himself
with a view of the train as it sped by, which it should do in about a
minute.

“At any rate,” said he, “it won’t be going around that dreadful
curve.”

It was the last of December, and the sun had set. When he reached
the track he saw, far away, a glimmer of the headlight of the
five-o’clock express.

Nearer and nearer it came. A moment more and it would rush by like a
meteor. But it didn’t. It slackened up at the very corner on which
Thomas stood, to allow an official of the road to jump off.

Thomas was not slow, if he did miss trains now and then. He swung
himself on to the smoker.

“Go’n’ far?” asked the brakeman.

“To New York,” was his reply.

“You’re in luck.”

“Well, I’ve not missed more than three or four trains in my life!”
said Thomas; and it was strictly true.

Half-past nine to the minute found him outside of the editorial rooms
of the “Courier-Journal.”

“Can I see Mr. Fitzgerald?” he asked of a boy who came in response to
a knock.

“No, sir; he went out of town yesterday. Be back to-morrow at twelve.”

       *       *       *       *       *

“Did you get my letter already?” asked Mr. Fitzgerald of Thomas
Morley, when he came to his desk next morning and found that young
man waiting for him.

“Yes, sir; and here I am.”

“Well, sir, I like your promptness, and I’ll give you the place of a
man whom we had to discharge for being too slow. You seem to have
what a reporter needs most of all--the ‘get there’ quality.”

“I didn’t allow any trains to pass me,” said Thomas, modestly.
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