The old track in disrepair in the throat of the embankment an old haunt the old signalman walks for miles every day every new gust rattling the tunnel grooves every time the man treading from the track he has me believing that he defies something that the dead man would continue as if nothing had happened that the signalman lives only because he is alert to the wind that should he put aside superstition and not care to step from the track the rattle in the tunnel grooves would do for him.