Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1902-10-04


tender.
Our master mechanic, Neighbor, had an
idea after her terrific collision, that she
could not stand heavy mainline passenger
runs so he put her on the Acton cut-ofr.
It was what railroad men call a jerk-water
run. whatever that may be; little Jaunt
of ten miles across the divide connecting
the northern division with the Denver
stem. 1t was just about like running a
trolley. and the run was given to Dad Sim
clair. for after that lift a Oxford his back
was never strong enough to shovel coal,
and he had to take an engine or quit rail-
reading.
Thus it happened that after many years
he took the throttle once more and ran
over. twice a day. as he does yet, from
Acton to Willow Creek.
His boy, George Sinclair, the kid en-
gneer. took the run on the Flyer opposite
Foley, just soon as he got we'll.
George. who was never happy unless he
had eight or ten Pullmans behind him. and
the right of way over everything between
Omaha and Denver, made great sport of
his fathers little smoking car and day
coach behind the big engine.
Foley made sport Of the remodeled en-
CINE. He used to stand by while the old
engineer was oiling and ask him whether
he thought she could catch a jack rabbit
II mean" Foley would say, eff the rabbit
was feeling we'll"
Dad Sinclair took 1t all grimly and quietly
he had railroaded too long to care for any
body's chaff. But one day, after the Sky
Scraper had gotten her fiues pretty well
chalked up with alkali, Foley insisted that
she must be renamed.
II have the only genuine sky-scraper on
the West End now myself declared Fo-
ley. He did have a new class H engine,
and she was awe-inspiring, in truth. Il
don't propose" he continued ito have her
confused with your old tub any longer,
Dad"
Dad, oiling his old tub affectionately, an
Swered never a word.
She's full of soda, isn't she father?" ask
ed George, standing by.
Reckon she Is SON..
Full of water, l suppose?"
"Try to keep her that way, son."
"Sal-soda isn't it, Dad?"
Now, I can't say. AS to that can't
"We'n call her Sal Soda, Georgia." sug-
gested Foley.
NO" interrupted George; stop bit
have it. Not Sal Soda at all-make it Soda
Water SAL
Then they laughed uproarously; and in
the teeth of Dad Sinclair's protests-for he
objected at once vigorously-the queer
name stuck to the engine, and sticks yet.
To have seen the great hulking machine
you would never have suspected there could
be another story left in her. Yet one there
was; a story of the wind. AS she stood,
too, when old man Sinclair took her on the
have ever seen of the adage that one can
never tell from the looks of frog how far
it will jump.
Have you ever felt the wind? Not I
think, unless you have lived on the seas or
on the plains. People everywhere think
the wind blows; but it really blows only On
the ocean and on the prairies.
The summer that Dad took the Acton run
it blew for month steadily. All Of one
August-hot, dry, merciesS; the despair of
the farmer and the terror of trainmen.
1t was on an August evening, with the
gale still sweeping up from the southwest,
that Dad came numbering into Acton with
his little trolley train. He had barely
pulled up at the platform to unload his pas
sengers when the station agent, Morris
Reynolds, coatless and hatless, rushed up
to the engine ahead of the hostler and
sprang into the cab. Reynolds was of
the quietest fellows in the service. To see
him without coat or hat didn't count for
much in such weather; but to see him sal
low with fright and almost speeches. was
enough to stir even old Dad Sinclair.
1t was not Dads habit to ask questions,
amazement. Reynolds choked and caught
at his breath as he seized the engineers
arm and pointed down the line.
Dad" he gasped three cars of coal
standing over there on the second spur blew
loose few minutes ago"
"Where are they?"
"Where are they? Blown through the
switch and down the line, forty miles an
hour"
The old man grasped the frightened man
by the shoulder What do you mean?
How long ago? When Is one due? Talk
quick, man! What's the matter with you?"
Not five minutes ago. No. l is due
here in less than thirty minutes; they'll go
into her sure. Dad" cried Reynolds, all in
a fright, "what'l 1 do? For heavens sake
do something. 1 called up Riverton and
tried to catch one, but she'd passed. I was
too late. There'n be a wreck, and I'm
booked for the penitentiary. What can
do?"
All the while the station agent, panic
stricken ratified on, Sinclair was looking at
his watch-casting 1t up-charting 1t all
under his thick gray, grzzled wool, fast as
thought could compass.
No. / headed for Acton, and her pace
was a hustle every mile of the way; three
cars of coal blowing down on her. how fast
he dared not think; and through 1t all he
was asking himself what day it was.
Thursday? Up! Yes. George. his boy, was
on the flyer No. l. 1t was his day up.
If they met on a curve
'Uncoupe herr roared Dad Sinclair, in
a giant tone.
what are you going to do?'
Burns" Numbered Dad to his fireman,
give her steam, and quick. boy! Dump IN
grease, waste, oil, everything! Are you
| clear there?" he cried, opening the throttle
as he looked back.
The old engine, pulling clear of her
| coaches. quivered she gathered herself
under the steam. She leaped ahead with
swish. The drivers churned in the sand.
bit into it with gritting tires and forged
ahead with a suck and hiss and a roar.
Before Reynolds had fairly gathered his
wits, Sinclair, leaving his train the
| main track in front of the depot, clat-
tering over the switch after the runaways.
| The wind was a terror, and they had too
good a start. But the way SodaWater Sal
| took the gait when she once felt her feet
under her made the wrnkled engineer at
her throttle set his mouth with the grim
ness of gamester. 1t meant the runaways
and catch them-or the ditch for ,ia -.
Water Sal, and the throbbing old machine
seemed to know it, for her nose hung to
the steel like the snout of a pointer.
| He was man Of a hundred even then
| Burns; but nobody knew it then. We
| hadn't thought much about Burns before.
He was a tall lank Irish boy, with open
| face and a morning smile. Dad Sinclair
| took him on because nobody else would
have him. Burns was so green that Foley
said you couldn't set his name afire. He
would, so Foley said, put out hot box just
| by blinking at 1t.
| But every mans turn comes once, and Il
had come for Burns. 1t was Dick Durn' $
| chance now to show what manner Of stuff
| waS hred In hia long Irish homes If was