Part 7 (1/2)
It is quite possible for two persons to converse in the cab of a flying locomotive, but the factor of distance must be eliminated. Wherefore he bent over her till his mustache brushed the pink ear.
”I am glad you like it. Are you still quite comfortable?”
”Yes, indeed; thank you. How fast are we going now?”
”About twenty-five miles an hour; but we'll double that when Maclure gets her warmed up.”
”Double it! Why, we seem to be fairly flying now!”
”Wait,” said Brockway.
Maclure was sitting sphynx-like on his box, coming to life now and then to reduce the angle of the reversing-lever, or to increase that of the throttle. The fireman labored steadily, swaying back and forth between the coal-chute and the fire-box door, his close-fitting cap on the back of his head, and Brockway's cigar,--unlighted, in deference to Gertrude,--between his teeth.
”What dreadfully hard work it must be to shovel coal that way all night,” Gertrude said, following the rhythmic swing of the fireman's sinewy figure with her eyes.
”He's getting his fire into shape, now,” Brockway explained. ”He'll have it easier after a bit.”
”Why doesn't he smoke his cigar?”
Brockway smiled. ”Because, down under the grime and coal-dust and other disguises, there is a drop or two of gentle blood, I fancy.”
”You mean it's because I'm here? Please tell him to light his cigar, if he wants to.”
Brockway obeyed, and the fireman unbent and bobbed his head in Gertrude's direction. ”Thank ye, ma'am,” he shouted, with a good-natured grin on his boyish face; ”but I'm thinkin' a dhry smoke's good enough for the lady's car”--and he bent to his work again, while the endless procession of telegraph-poles hurtled past with ever-increasing swiftness, and the sharp blasts of the exhaust lost their intermittence, and became blent in a continuous roar.
Presently, the laboring engine began to heave and roll like a storm-tossed vessel, and Gertrude was fain to make use of the foot-rest.
Being but a novice, she made unskilful work of it; and when her foot slipped for the third time, Brockway took his courage in both hands.
”Just lean back and brace yourself against my shoulder,” he said; ”I'm afraid you'll get a fall.”
She did it, and he held himself in watchful readiness to catch her if she should lose her balance.
”Is that better?”
She nodded. ”Much better, thank you. Have we doubled it yet?”
Brockway took out his watch and timed the revolutions of the flying drive-wheels. ”Not quite, but we're bettering the schedule by several miles. Do you still enjoy it?”
”Yes, much; but it's very dreadful, isn't it? I don't see how he dares!”
”Who? Maclure?”
”Yes; or anyone else. To me it seems braver than anything I ever read of--to drive a great thing like this with so many precious lives behind it. The responsibility must be terrible.”
”It would be if a fellow thought of it all the time; but one doesn't, you know. Now I'll venture a guess that Mac is just speculating as to how much of the 'Kestrel's' lost time he can get back between this and the end of his run.”
But the shrewd old pioneer with the Scottish name was thinking of no such prosaic thing. On the contrary, he was wondering who Miss Vennor was; if she would be a worthy helpmate for the pa.s.senger agent; and if so, how he could help matters along.
The switch-lights of Arriba were twinkling in the distance, and his hand was on the whistle-lever, when the engineer reached a conclusion. The next instant Gertrude shrieked and would have tumbled ignominiously into the fireman's scoop if Brockway had not caught her.