Frank was nervous. It was not the first time he had been on an engine, for he had sought the friendship of the engineers, and had found opportunities to ride about the switches and watch the work, but never yet had he flung a shovel of coal in at a furnace door. He had watched and studied, feeling sure that his time would come, and all his life it had been his way to pick up all the knowledge he could obtain, knowing that almost anything a man learns comes of practical use some time.
Open came the furnace door and Merry gave a glance at the glowing heap within. Then he seized the shovel, and, feeling stronger than ever before in his life, began to fling in the coal, giving each shovelful a dextrous flirt that scattered and distributed it evenly. When he thought he had shoveled enough, he closed the door with a clang.
Hobson said not a word, but just then, having received another signal, he reversed, and 91 started backward along the track. Up to the leather seat went Frank, and he rang the bell as the engine backed along the track.
In a very few minutes 91 was busy pushing and hauling cars about and moving them from one track to another.
For nearly an hour Hobson had nothing to say, and Frank made no talk, for his mind was on the various tasks it was his duty to perform. He seemed to know exactly what to do, and not once did the engineer have to give him directions.
Then came a few minutes of leisure when 91 was not busy. Hobson caught up a black pipe and lighted it. As he was rolling great puffs of blue-white smoke out of his mouth, he shut one eye in a queer way and stared at his companion with the other.
“Humph!” he grunted. “When did you fire before?”
Frank flushed, for there seemed a trace of derision in the voice and manner of the man.
“I never fired before, sir.”
“What!”