Thus, when I was a little older, I could run an engine quite
well. I knew the oil cups, could work the injector, knew enough to open
and close the cylinder cocks, could toot the whistle and ring the bell
like an old timer, and had a pretty fair idea, generally speaking, of
the machine. Having all these things in mind, I approached Mr. Hebron,
as he stood cogitating upon his ill-luck, and said, "Mr. Hebron, I'll
run this train into Chaminade if you will only get some one to keep the
engine hot."
"You," said Hebron, "you are a despatcher; what the devil do you know
about running a locomotive?"
I told him I might not know much, but if he would say the word I would
get those twenty-three cars into Chaminade, or know the reason why. He
looked at me for a minute, asked me a few questions about what I knew of
an engine and then said,
"By George! I'll risk it. Get on that engine, my boy; take this one
wiper left for a fireman, and pull out. But first go over to the office
for your orders. You won't need many, because everything is tied up
between here and Johnsonville, and you will have a clear track.
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