"I used to be an engineer before the war," said he. "Do you go to
Boston!"
"No, to M----."
"M----! I thought that was on a branch."
"It is, but is now an important manufacturing point, with regular trains
from there to each end of the main line."
"When can I get to Boston?"
"Not till Monday now; we run no through Sunday trains. You can go to
M---- with me to-night, and catch a local to Boston in the morning."
He thought a minute, and then said, "Well, yes; guess I had better. How
is it for a ride?"
"Good; just tell the conductor that I told you to get on."
"Thanks; that's clever. I used to know a soldier who used to run up in
this country," said the stranger, musing. "Dillon; that's it, Dillon."
"I knew him well," said I. "I want to hear about him."
"Queer man," said he, and I noticed he was eying me pretty sharp.
"A good engineer."
"Perhaps," said he.
[Illustration: "I noticed his long, slim hand on the top of the
reverse-lever."]
I coaxed the old veteran to ride on the engine--the first coal-burner I
had had. He seemed more than glad to comply.
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