When the 244 reached the shops a few minutes later they photographed that cab. It was the worst case of rod-smashing we had ever seen; and the West-End shops have caught some pretty tough-looking cabs in their day.
The boy who stopped the cyclone and saved his train and crew lay stretched on the lounge in my office waiting for the company surgeon. And old Dad Hamilton crabbed, irascible old Dad Hamilton flew around that boy exactly like an excited old rooster: first bringing ice, and then water, and then hot coffee, and then fanning him with a time-table. It was worth a small smash-up to see it.
The one sweep of the rod which caught Georgie's arm had broken it in two places, and he was off duty three months. But it was a novelty to see that boy walk down to the post-office, and hear the strikers step up and ask how his arm was; and to see old Dad Hamilton tag around Zanesville after him was refreshing. The kid engineer had won his spurs.
The Sky-Scraper
As the new engine rolled into the yards my heart beat quicker. Her lines were too imposing to call strong; they were massive, yet so simple you could draw them, like the needle snout of a collie, to a very point.
Every bearing looked precise, every joint looked supple, as she swept magnificently up and checked herself, panting, in front of us.
Foley was in the cab. He had been east on a lay-off, and so happened to bring in the new monster, wild, from the river shops.
She was built in Pennsylvania, but the fellows on the Missouri end of our line thought nothing could ever safely be put into our hands until they had stopped it en route and looked it over.
"How does she run, Foley?" asked Neighbor, gloating silently over the toy.
"Cool as an ice-box," said Foley, swinging down. "She's a regular summer resort. Little stiff on the hills yet."
"We'll take that out of her," mused Neighbor, climbing into the cab to look her over. "Boys, this is up in a balloon," he added, pushing his big head through the cab-window and peering down at the ninety-inch drivers under him.
"I grew dizzy once or twice looking for the ponies," declared Foley, biting off a piece of tobacco as he hitched at his overalls. "She looms like a sky-scraper. Say, Neighbor, I'm to get her myself, ain't I?" asked Foley, with his usual nerve.
"When McNeal gets through with her, yes," returned Neighbor, gruffly, giving her a thimble of steam and trying the air.
"What!" cried Foley, affecting surprise. "You going to give her to the kid?"
"I am," returned the master-mechanic unfeelingly, and he kept his word.
Georgie McNeal, just reporting for work after the session in his cab with the loose end of a connecting-rod, was invited to take out the Sky-Scraper 488, Class H as she was listed, and Dad Hamilton of course took the scoop to fire her.
"They get everything good that's going," grumbled Foley.
"They are good people," retorted Neighbor. He also assigned a helper to the old fireman. It was a new thing with us then, a fellow with a slice-bar to tickle the grate, and Dad, of course, kicked. He always kicked. If they had raised his salary he would have kicked. Neighbor wasted no words. He simply sent the helper back to wiping until the old fireman should cry enough.
Very likely you know that a new engine must be regularly broken, as a horse is broken, before it is ready for steady hard work. And as Georgie McNeal was not very strong yet, he was appointed to do the breaking.
For two months it was a picnic. Light runs and easy lay-overs. After the smash at the Narrows, Hamilton had sort of taken the kid engineer under his wing; and it was pretty generally understood that any one who elbowed Georgie McNeal must reckon with his doughty old fireman. So the two used to march up and down street together, as much like chums as a very young engineer and
a very old fireman possibly could be. They talked together, walked together, and ate together. Foley was as jealous as a cat of Hamilton, because he had brought Georgie out West, and felt a sort of guardian interest in that quarter himself. Really, anybody would love Georgie McNeal; old Dad Hamilton was proof enough of that.
One evening, just after pay-day, I saw the pair in the post-office lobby getting their checks cashed. Presently the two stepped over to the money-order window; a moment later each came away with a money-order.
"Is that where you leave your wealth, Georgie?" I asked, as he came up to speak to me.
"Part of it goes there every month, Mr. Reed," he smiled. "Checks are running light, too, now eh, Dad?"
"A young fellow like you ought to be putting money away in the bank," said I.
"Well, you see I have a bank back in Pennsylvania a bank that is now sixty years old, and getting gray-headed. I haven't sent her much since I've been on the relief, so I'm trying to make up a little now for my old mammie."
"Where does yours go, Dad?" I asked.
"Me?" answered the old man, evasively, "I've got a boy back East; getting to be a big one, too. He's in school. When are you going to give us a passenger run with the Sky-Scraper, Neighbor?" asked Hamilton, turning to the master-mechanic.