“Oh, come!” protested the engineer. “Mebbe you’ll tell me it’s full now!”
Without replying, Pinkey stooped and opened a little cock on the front of the tank, near the bottom. Not a drop of water came out of it.
“Dry as a bone!” cried the engineer, his face purple. “Mebbe you’ll say I used it—mebbe you’ll say th’ engine drunk up a whole tankful inside o’ ten mile. Th’ only question is,” he added, with another glance at his gauge, “kin we git to Little Hocking?”
Little Hocking, the nearest station, was about four miles away, and it looked for a time as though the water in the boiler would not be sufficient to carry the train so far, and the fireman would be compelled to draw his fire, while the brakeman tramped to the next station for help. Such an accident would have made both engineer and fireman the laughing-stock of the road, besides leading to an investigation by the trainmaster, and a session “on the carpet.” So Bill, although boiling mad, nursed the engine along as carefully as he could, making every pound of steam count, and finally drew up in triumph beside the water-tank at Little Hocking.
“There, you lobster,” he said to Pinkey, wiping off the perspiration, “now fill her up.”
Pinkey lowered the spout of the water-tank, opened the gate and let the water rush down into the tank of the engine. It would hold seven thousand gallons, and the fireman waited until the water brimmed over the top and splashed down along the sides before he turned it off.
“Now,” he said, defiantly, to Michaels, “you see fer yourself she’s full. Th’ way she’s steamin’, I bet that won’t carry us to Stewart.”
The engineer grunted contemptuously.
“Remarkable, ain’t it, how much these green firemen know?” he remarked to the front brakeman, as he gently opened the throttle.