The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1903-12-06
The Million-Dollar Freight Train

In a massacre. But take il he must have
been an older man than our Bartholomew
nor his other name wasn't Mullen. Meth
er. / disremember just what 1t was, but 1t
wasn't Mullen
We'll. don't say I want to get the boy
killed. Nelghbor." protested. "Pve plenty
to answer for. I'm here to run trains
when there are any to run; that's murder
enough for me. You needn't send Bartholo-
NEW out on my account"
"Give him a slow schedule. and I'll give
him orders to jump early; that's all we can
do If the strikers don't ditch him he'll
get through somehow"
Ii stuck in my crop-the idea of putting
the boy on a pilot engine to take all the
dangers ahead of that particular train, but
/ had good deal else to think of besides.
From the minute the silk got into the Nc
Cloud yards we posted double guards
around. About II o'clock that night we
held a council of war, which ended in our
running the train into the out freighthouse.
The result was that by morning we had
new train made up. 1t consisted Of four
teen refrigerator cars loaded with oranges,
which had dome in mysteriously the night
before. 1t was announced that the silk
would be held for the present, and the
oranges rushed through. Bright and early
the refrigerator train was run down to the
icehouses, and twenty men were put to
work icing the oranges. AT o'clock Nc
Curdy pulled in the local passenger with
Engine los. Our plan was to cancel the
local and run out with the oranges. When
he got in he reported the 1903 had sprung a
tire. 1t knocked our scheme into cooked
hat.
There was a lantern-jawed conference In
the roundhouse.
What can you do?" asked the superin-
tendent, in desperation
There's only one thing 1 can do. Put
Bartholomew Mullen on 1t with the Al,
and put McCurdy to bed for No. 2 to-
night" responded Neighbor.
We were running first in, first out; but
we took care to Away have somebody for
l and who at least knew an injector
from an air pump.
1t was o'clock. I looked into the loco
motive stalls. The first-the only-man in
sight was Bartholomew Mullen. He was
very busy polishing the Al. He had good
steam on her and the old tub was wheeling
as If she has the asthma. The A was old;
she was homely; she was rickety: but
Bartholomew Mullen wiped her battered
nose as deferentially as If she had been a
spick-span. spider-driver, tail-truck mail
racer.
She wasn't much-the A. But in those
days Bartholomew wasn't much; and the
"A was Bartholomew
How is she steaming, Bartholomew"
/ sung out. He was right in the middle of
her. Looking up. he fingered his waste
modestly and blushed through dab of
crude petroleum over his eye.
Hundred and thirty, sir. She's terri
BILE free steamer. the old "A. I'm all ready
to run her out
who's marked up to fire for you. Barth-
olomew?"
Bartholomew Mullen looked at me fra
ternally.
''Neighbor couldn't give me anybody but
a wiper" said Bartholomew in a sort of
a wouldn't-that- kill-you tone.
The unconscious arrogance of the boy
quite knocked me, soon had honors
changed his point of view. Last night a
despised wiper; at daybreak an engineer;
and his nose in the air at the idea of TAX
ing on a wiper for fireman And all so in
nocent.
Would you object, Bartholomew" sug-
gested gently, Ito a trainmaster for fire.
man?'
'T don't-think so, SIR
THANK you; because I am going down
to GAINESVILLE this morning myself, and
thought I'd ride with you. 1t it all right"