"'Tisn't so easy switching with a straight-backed tender," said his
little friend of the round-house, bustling by at a trot. "But
you're comin' on pretty fair. 'Ever seen a flyin' switch? No?
Then watch me."
Poney was in charge of a dozen heavy flat-cars. Suddenly he shot
away from them with a sharp "Whutt !" A switch opened in the shadows
ahead; he turned up it like a rabbit as it snapped behind him, and
the long line of twelve-foot-high lumber jolted on into the arms of
a full-sized road-loco, who acknowledged receipt with a dry howl.
"My man's reckoned the smartest in the yard at that trick," he said,
returning. "Gives me cold shivers when another fool tries it,
though. That's where my short wheel-base comes in. Like as not
you'd have your tender scraped off if you tried it."
.007 had no ambitions that way, and said so.
"No? Of course this ain't your regular business, but say, don't you
think it's interestin'? Have you seen the yard-master? Well, he's
the greatest man on earth, an' don't you forget it. When are we
through? Why, kid, it's always like this, day an' night - Sundays
an' week-days. See that thirty-car freight slidin' in four, no,
five tracks off? She's all mixed freight, sent here to be sorted out
into straight trains.
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