007 moved out the cars and delivered them to the regular
road-engine. He had never felt quite so limp in his life before.
"Curious, ain't it?" said Poney, puffing, on the next track. "You
an' me, if we got that man under our bumpers, we'd work him into
red waste an' not know what we'd done; but-up there - with the steam
hummin' in his boiler that awful quiet way ... "
"I know," said .007. "Makes me feel as if I'd dropped my Fire an'
was getting cold. He is the greatest man on earth."
They were at the far north end of the yard now, under a switchtower,
looking down on the four-track way of the main traffic. The Boston
Compound was to haul .007's string to some far-away northern
junction over an indifferent road-bed, and she mourned aloud for the
ninety-six pound rails of the B. & A.
"You're young; you're young," she coughed. "You don't realise your
responsibilities."
"Yes, he does," said Poney, sharply; "but he don't lie down under
'em." Then, with aside-spurt of steam, exactly like a tough
spitting: "There ain't more than fifteen thousand dollars' worth o'
freight behind her anyway, and she goes on as if 't were a hundred
thousand - same as the Mogul's.
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