Chapter 10

Buford S Rodman was seated in his very luxurious high backed leather chair in the board room of the rail road headquarters, located in New York City. As president and general manager of the railroad it was his duty to preside over all the meetings of the board. In the very large room was an extra long table with fifteen chairs on each side of it. Seated in the chairs were cigar smoking men dressed in very expensive suits. Mr. Rodman was reading a report while talking to the members seated around the table. Suddenly he stopped, someone busted open the door to the room and in came the brash intruder, and it was none other than B S Rodman's wife.

“Thelma,” he said as he put down the report and rose to his feet. “My Dear, we’re right in the middle of a very important meeting with all the heads of the company.”

“Good,” she yells “because I have plenty to say and they all need to hear it.”

“What is it?” he asked.

“You better sit down B S, and hang on to something,” she said loudly.

“Oh! My!” he said and quickly sat back down in his expensive chair.

“Gentlemen, I heard this on the . . . shall we say, grapevine.” She began as she pulled her fur coat and silk gloves off and laid them on the table. “It seems, gentlemen that a few employees of this rail road, tried to slip a stowaway onto a train, and send him, to Oklahoma.”

“Their always doing that,” said one of the men at the table.

“Yeah, however this one was only seven years of age,” she said.

“Seven,” said the gentlemen almost in unison.

“The worst part is, there has been a train wreck in Tennessee, and the little tike was killed,” she said.

“What?” yelled Buford “He’s dead?”

“That’s what usually happens when someone gets, killed,” she replied.

“We need to do something for the family. He did have family?” inquired Buford.

“Oh! He had family alright, a father, mother, and two sisters,” she explained.

“Well, we’ll take care of the family and we’ll do . . .”

She cut Buford off. “Nothing, absolutely nothing,” she said.

“Why?” asked Buford.

“My Darling husband,” she said as she placed her hand on his shoulder. “I wish daddy had put me in that chair instead of you.”

“A woman can’t run a large company like this,” he shouted.

“Well, baby doll, nether can you,” she said sourly. “If you do something for those people, then we’ll have a rash of little kids riding the rails, with lawsuits from wall to wall.”

“We’ve got to do something,” he pleaded.

“Deny the whole thing . . . when and if, they persists then say ‘We are investigating’ and nothing else,” she explained.

“Deny it . . . to who?” they asked.

“Investigators, or newspaper reporters . . . you bunch of imbeciles,” she said.

“All right, but we’ll find those responsible for this and fire them, no have them drawn and quartered,” shouted Buford.

“You will not,” she yelled. “That would only confirm the story. What you will do is find those responsible and swear them to secrecy, or else.” She drew her thumb across her throat.

“Yeah, that’s what we’ll do . . . or else,” Buford said then swallowed hard.

“Send you best team of investigators to handle it,” she instructed. “If the story ever gets out, you could be ruined.”

Each man wiped his brow, or loosened their ties; a couple of them did both. With all that cigar smoke in the room some of them even felt . . . sick.