tonight and looking at my watch I found he had a good
half hour to wait. Picking my way slowly clown through
the intricate tracks and moving switches I came to the
en
gine, which stood panting softly and slowly like a human
being husbanding its strength for a coming race.
The big "Racer" towered high bove the rails and the
setting sun reflected the polished surfaces which the Eastern
shops had recently given it. No. 77 was truly a "thing
of beauty" and with her six-foot-six drivers and immense
boiler standing high on her frame, the electric head light
perched in front of her short stack, the brightly polished
bell and other evidences of thought and pride on the part
of her builders and driver, she was well fitted to draw the
"Fast Mail" on its swift flight down into the valley, and
across the lowlands.
As I approached, the headlight glared into my face and
I noticed two bright green lights burning below it. I found
the engineer, Jake Wilson--" Silent Jake" he was called—
busily oiling around the massive drivers. Removing his cap
and wiping his perspiring face lie bid me a welcome. Then
I noticed for the first time a scar across his forehead which
he had hitherto concealed beneath his oily cap.
"Who follows you out tonight Mr. Wilson?" I asked, re
ferring to the lights.
"The General Manager; and I hope the 'Old Girl' wont
go back on me. She is a little new yet and can't get down
to steady running" he answered. As if surprised at the
length of his speech, which however showed more of pride
than of thoughtlessness, he hurried around to the other side
of the "old Girl."
Seeing Jim, the fireman, busily raking down the grates
and keeping up the pointer in the steam gauge, I accepted
his invitation to "climb up," rather glad to get out of the
cold evening winds.
Jake soon swung himself in and after cleaning his hands
with a bundle of waste he looked at his watch. It was cer-