“And then,” pointed out the night station master, who had likewise appeared, “that crew must take out Number Fourteen.”
“I want none of your advice, Cummings,” snapped the supervisor.
But Cummings was a gray-haired official and not easily browbeaten.
“You’d better listen to somebody, Mr. Hopkins,” he said doggedly. “I know the boys on the list quite as well as you do—perhaps better, considerin’ I’ve seen many of them growin’ up in the road’s employ. There’s freight engineers, and there’s passenger engineers. Many an engineer tries pulling the varnished cars and is glad to drop back into an easy-going freight run. Though there is little on the division that is really easy-going now.”
“Well, well?” said Hopkins, impatiently.
Cummings raised his eyebrows and glanced from Bob Adair to Ralph.
“There’s not a man on that list as well able to pull Number Two-o-two as old By was, God rest him! And he couldn’t make the grade, as the saying is. This Midnight Flyer is a disgrace to the division!”
“What do you mean?” demanded the supervisor angrily.
“Just what I say. It is a disgrace. It doesn’t keep to schedule half the time. It is the laughing-stock on the system. You know it. Somebody has got to sit on that bench that can get better time out of the mill than ever it has made yet.”
“Well, we cannot think of that now. We have to send out the train. The engineer that can show a card—any engineer—is the one we want, and must have.”