After I got to running, I saw and knew more of 'Lige, and I think,
perhaps, I was as much of a friend as he ever had. We never were chums.
I never went to his house, and he never went to mine; we were simply
roundhouse acquaintances; used to talk engine a little, but usually
talked about children--'Lige had four, and always spoke about "doing the
right thing by them."
'Lige had a very heavy full beard, that came clear up to his eyes, and a
mass of wavy hair--all iron grey. His eyes were steel grey, and matched
his hair, and he had a habit of looking straight at you when he spoke.
On his engine he invariably ran with his head out of the side window,
rain or shine, and always bareheaded. When he stepped upon the
footboard, he put his hat away with his clothes, and there it stayed. He
was never known to wear a cap, excepting in the coldest weather.
Once in a while, when I was firing, I have seen him come in, in winter,
with his beard white with frost and ice, and some smoke-shoveling wit
dubbed him Santa Claus.
'Lige had a way of looking straight ahead and thinking of his work, and,
after he got to running express, would go through a town, where other
trains were sidetracked for him, looking at the track ahead, and at the
trains, but never seeming to care that they were there, never nodding or
waving a hand.
Pages:
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58