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Updated: September 10, 2025
"This will be a good time for me to look over the books and find out what shape the car is in." Mr. Sparling pressed an electric button, and Henry, the porter, responded to the summons. "Has Mr. Forrest returned yet?" "No, sir." "Is Mr. Conley out there?" "Yes, sir." "Send him in." Billy entered the stateroom, a broad smile on his face. "Sit down, Billy. Well, our friend has gone.
All the rest of the berths are occupied, unless the Boss is going to let you sleep in the office with him." "I rather think he will not invite us. He seems to be in a huff about something tonight," answered Phil dryly, at which there was a loud laugh. "What's this Johnnie Bull tells me about a roughhouse in the office this afternoon?" demanded Conley suddenly.
Conley knew, but he preserved a discreet silence. "I reckon, if they wanted us to know what was going on they would tell us," declared Rosie the Pig. "That's the trouble with these cars. We ain't human. We ain't supposed to know anything." "Rosie, don't talk. Someday you might make a mistake and really say something worth listening to," advised Slivers.
"You beat anything I ever came across," Conley remarked in Phil's car as the two were standing at the side of the track in front of Number Three. "Wait! Don't throw any flowers at me too soon. We have not done it yet. I understand there is a short up-grade about seven miles below here. If we get stalled on that we will be in a fine fix and likely to get smashed into ourselves.
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