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John Saggart stood in a dark corner of the terminus, out of the rays of the glittering arc lamps, and watched engine Number Eighty-six. The engineer was oiling her, and the fireman, as he opened the furnace-door and shovelled in the coal, stood out like a red Rembrandt picture in the cab against the darkness beyond.
"He'll have trouble," muttered John to himself, "when she finds out." The conductor came in again and sat down beside the engineer. He said nothing, but sat there sorting his tickets, while Saggart gazed out of the window. Suddenly the engineer sprang to his feet with his eyes wide open. The train was swaying from side to side and going at great speed. The conductor looked up with a smile.
Now and then the black bulk of a barn or a clump of trees showed for one moment against the sky, and Saggart would say to himself, "Now he should shut off an inch of steam," or, "Now he should throw her wide open." The train made few stops, but he saw that they were losing time. Eighty-six was sulking, very likely. Thinking of the engine turned his mind to his own fate.
He cast his eye up the track and saw glimmering in the distance, like a faint wavering star, the headlight of No. 6. Looking down into the cab he realized the situation in a glance. The engineer, with fear in his face and beads of perspiration on his brow, was throwing his whole weight on the lever, the fireman helping him. Saggart leaped down to the floor of the cab.
"Then why did ye say ye were sent there? Well, what kind of place is Paris? Not that I care much about Paris." "Sorrow a bit did I ever see of either them, Shorsha, for no one sent me to either. When we says at home a person is going to Paris and Salamanca, it manes that he is going abroad to study to be a saggart, whether he goes to them places or not.
"Well, Shorsha, about a year and a half after you left us and a sorrowful hour for us it was when ye left us, losing, as we did, your funny stories of your snake and the battles of your military they sent me to Paris and Salamanca, in order to make a saggart of me." "Pray excuse me," said I, "for interrupting you, but what kind of place is Salamanca?" "Divil a bit did I ever see of it, Shorsha!"
"Well," said the conductor, rising and picking up his lantern, "the man in front may be all right, but I would feel safer if you were further ahead than the smoker. I'm sorry I can't offer you a berth to-night, John, but we're full clear through to the rear lights. There isn't even a vacant upper on the train." "Oh, it doesn't matter," said Saggart. "I couldn't sleep, anyhow.
Even the fastest expresses must stop dead before crossing on the level the line of another railway. It is the law. "Doesn't that fool in front know enough to stop at a crossing?" "It isn't that." said Saggart. "He knows all right. Even the train boys know that. Old Eighty-six has taken the bit between her teeth. He can't stop her. Where do you pass No. 6 to-night?" "At Pointsville."
"They gave it to me to take me home," said Saggart, a touch of sadness in his voice, "and I may as well use it as not. I don't want to get you into trouble." "Oh, I'd risk the trouble," said the conductor, placing the lantern on the floor and taking his seat beside the engineer. "I heard about your worry to-day. It's too bad.
I'd rather sit here and look out of the window." "Well, so long," said the conductor. "I'll drop in and see you as the night passes on." Saggart lit his pipe and gazed out into darkness. He knew every inch of the road all the up grades and the down grades and the levels. He knew it even better in the murkiest night than in the clearest day.
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