Now, the light engines that had helped them up the mountain began whistling for Salida.
“I get off here,” said McGuire, rising.
“Oh! is this the end?”
“Of my run, yes, and this has been the best trip I ever had.”
“Do you call it a good trip when you are a day late?”
“I call this a good trip. And that reminds me that I have not made out my report.”
“What will you report?”
“The cause of the delay.”
“And the effect?”
“Yes,” said McGuire, with his heart hitting his vest like a trip-hammer, “but not now. I’ll make that report when other men are reporting to me.”