# Bob Chester's Grit/Chapter 14
#### CHAPTER XIV
##### AT THE THROTTLE OF A FREIGHT ENGINE

Taking Bob to the caboose, the freight conductor made him known to the brakemen who were lolling about, smoking.
"So you're the kid Miser Jenkins thought stole your pass?" exclaimed one of the trainmen, after a searching scrutiny of the boy. "He must be losing his eyesight. That face of yours ought to vouch for you, if nothing else. Crooks don't have such honest faces."
"Oh, the miser was probably trying to pull off one of his grand-stand plays," commented another. "Passes are pretty rare birds, nowadays, and I suppose he thought he could make a hit with the company by inquiring about this one."
"And instead of that, he got hit himself. Brown, in the despatcher's office, told me the message Jenkins received from Chicago was red hot."
From the remarks, Bob could see plainly that the officious conductor was not popular, and he ​was wondering whether or not he was expected to make any comment, when Hosmer said, his face suffused with a look of glee:
"Well, the boys are going to put one over on the 'miser'."
And, pausing aggravatingly, the freight conductor filled his pipe and lighted it.
His action produced the desired effect of tantalizing the brakemen, and they exclaimed eagerly:
"Out with it, Hos'! Tell us! Let us in on it!"
Waiting a moment, to give his words greater emphasis, the conductor removed his pipe from his mouth, and said:
"All the boys are going up to Sweeney's, order the swellest meal he can put up, and send the bill to Jenkins!"
"Whoopee! Great! I wish we were in on it!" exclaimed the brakemen in unison.
"Is that quite fair?" asked Bob, having hoped that his departure would put an end to Tom's plan.
"Fair? Sure, it's fair!" laughed Hosmer. "Anyhow, I don't see why you should care. He treated you mighty mean, taking your pass away from you."
As the other trainmen agreed with the opinion of their conductor, Bob made no further ​objection, contenting himself with the thought that he could hardly be held responsible.
During the conversation, the long freight train had got under way, and while the boy found many novel things to hold his attention, the brakemen amused themselves speculating on the effect the joke would have upon Jenkins.
As the engine whistled for a station, Hosmer said to Bob:
"How'd you like to ride on the engine till the next stop?"
"My, but it would be fun!" replied Bob, his eyes sparkling with delight.
"Then come on! I'll take you up and fix it with Barney, the engineer."
As the train stopped, with a loud creaking of brakes and groaning of wheels, Bob jumped from the caboose and accompanied the burly conductor to the head of the train.
"Hey, Barney!" he hailed the engineer. The man thus addressed poked a coal-begrimed face from the window of his cab, asking:
"What is it—wait orders?"
"Not this time. I've got a boy here—Bob Chester—who wants to ride with you to the next station."
For a moment the engineer scowled, and Bob feared he would refuse. But quickly the grimy face broke into a smile, as Barney asked:
​"Is that the kid with a pass Jenkins left?"
"Yes."
"Sure he can ride with me. Help him up."
Bob, however, needed no assistance, and no sooner had the permission been granted than he was climbing into the engine cab.
Before he had succeeded, Hosmer whispered:
"Barney's all right—and he doesn't like Jenkins. Tell him about the joke the boys are going to play." And then he continued aloud: "I'll either come for you, myself, or send some one when we reach Hastings. Orders give us the right of way to Hastings, Barney."
"O. K.," grunted the engineer, as he turned to scrutinize Bob, at the same time standing so that he could glance up the track toward the station to catch the signal to start.
Acting on the conductor's advice, Bob narrated the plan Tom had devised for having fun at Jenkins' expense, and was rewarded by seeing the engineer's face break into a broad grin, and then to hear him roar with laughter.
"That'll make 'Old Miser's' hair turn gray," he gasped between laughs. "He'll never get over it, never!
"Oh, Ned," he called to his fireman, who had been out oiling some part of the engine, "the boys are going to put one over on 'Miser' Jenkins."
​But before the engineer had an opportunity to tell of the contemplated joke, he caught the signal from the conductor to start.
"Get up on that seat on the left-hand side, and hang on," warned Barney, and, as Bob obeyed, he pulled open the throttle.
As the iron monster began to move, puffing and smoking at the task of starting the long train, it seemed to the boy that the noise would deafen him. But he soon forgot it in the absorption of watching the fireman open the doors of the firebox, throw in shovels-full of coals, and then inspect the water and steam gauges.
With the gradual increasing of the speed, the din subsided. Yet a new discomfort took its place. So violently did the engine sway, that Bob was obliged to hang on to the window on his side of the cab to keep from bouncing to the floor.
Watching out the corner of his eye, as he scanned the track ahead, the engineer smiled at the boy's trouble in staying on the seat.
Bob, however, soon adapted himself to the engine's motion, and was finally able to sit without clutching the window-frame.
Noting this, Barney got down, crossed the cab, and putting his mouth close to the boy's ear, asked:
"Like to run the engine awhile?"
​"Would I? I should say so!" returned Bob in delight.
Though his reply was inaudible, the expression on his face was eloquent.
"Then, take hold of my arm, so you won't get thrown out. That's the way. Steady, now. Climb on to the seat. Good. Now, put your left hand on that lever. That's what they call the throttle. When you pull it toward you, it increases the speed; to slow down, you push it away from you."
Proud, indeed, did Bob feel as his hand clasped the smooth handle of the lever. Never had he expected to run a real, snorting locomotive, dragging a long line of cars, and the realization that he was actually controlling the speed, set him a-tingle with delight.
Crowding in behind Bob, the engineer kept watch of the track, but not so closely that he could not observe and enjoy the boy's pleasure. After several minutes, Bob turned and shouted:
"Can I pull on the throttle a little?"
"Sure. Open her to the next notch. We've got plenty of steam."
But Bob found it was not so easy to get the notch as it seemed. He kept gamely at it, however, and at last succeeded.
Till they reached the yard limit of Hastings, the engineer allowed him to hold the throttle, and ​when he at last took it and began to ease down the speed, Bob sighed wistfully.
As the big machine finally came to a stop with a grunt, Barney exclaimed:
"You ought to be an engineer, boy. You've got the nerve to drive hard. We did ten miles in twenty minutes—which is going some with this load."
Just then, however, the conductor came up.
"Like it, Bob?" he asked.
"Indeed, I did! Mr. Barney let me drive, and I made ten miles in twenty minutes."
"Good boy! We'll make a railroad man out of you yet. Think you could follow me back to the caboose over the cars?"
"I can try," returned Bob.
But before the attempt could be made, the conductor was called to the station office to receive orders.
Swelled with pride at his success in driving the engine, Bob determined to surprise the conductor by going back to the caboose alone.
And with a hearty good-bye to the engineer, he clambered over the coal-stacked tender and up on to the top of a car.
HE CLUTCHED FRANTICALLY AT ONE OF THE HAND BARS
​the instructions to the engineer, to think of Bob.
The boy, however, was making his way back slowly, but without mishap, until the sudden start of the train. He had just climbed down from a high car, and was swinging from it to an empty coal car, when the jerk of starting ran through the line of cars.
So unexpected was this action, that Bob's feet slipped off the bumpers.
Crying out in alarm, he clutched frantically at one of the hand-bars on the end of the coal car, caught it, and managed to draw himself up till he found foothold on the extension of the floor where he stood, hanging on for dear life, until the train stopped with another jerk.