Meanwhile, the little switch-engine has set its train of coaches in upon one of the innumerable sidings away down the yards where passenger cars are stored—and one would scarcely believe how many miles of such storage track every great terminal requires—has uncoupled and started back toward the train-shed for another load—her movements, by the way, as well-known to and thoroughly understood by the chief towerman as are those of the most glittering through train. Already the train of coaches is in the hands of the cleaners and stockers, for it will start out again presently upon another trip. Modern passenger cars represent too much money to be allowed to repose on a siding a minute longer than necessary.
The cleaners swarm into the coaches, dusty and dirty and foul after the long journey, dragging behind them long lines of hose. The hose carries compressed air, and in half an hour those cars are sucked clean of dirt and are as fresh and sweet as when they first came from the shops. Other cleaners are washing the windows and polishing the metal fittings. Trucks pull up loaded with ice, with clean linen, and the stockers see that every car is supplied. Farther along is the diner, and to it come the butcher’s cart, the baker’s cart, the grocer’s cart; dozens and dozens of napkins and table-cloths are taken aboard, and already the chef is making out the menu for the dinner which will be served in an hour or two somewhere out on the road. It is all wonderful—fearful and wonderful, when one stops to think of it—impossible to set on paper except in broad suggestive splashes, as an impressionist paints a sunset.
“Are you going back on Two?” asked Jim.
“Yes,” said Allan, glancing at the tower clock.
“Well, there she comes,” said Jim, and motioned toward a cut of coaches being backed into the train-shed by one of the ever-present switch-engines.
“All right,” said Allan. “I’ll go down and hunt up Mr. Schofield. He’s going back with me. This is a great place, Jim.”
“Come again,” said Jim heartily. “You’re always welcome. He’s a fine young fellow,” he continued, as Allan went down the stairs. “He’ll have his office up yonder one of these days,” and he motioned toward the towering stories of the terminal building. “Number eight, Sam,” he added, as the bell rang. “There comes the St. Louis express.”