He paused for a moment.
“Why, it's the Hawkins Alcomotive!” he added.
“And what under heavens is the Hawkins——”
“Well, you don't suppose I'm carrying scale drawings of the thing on me, do you? You don't suppose that I'm prepared to give a demonstration with magic lantern pictures on the spot? If you want to see it, come and see it. If not, you'd better get into your train. It's ten:three now.”
I knew no way of better utilizing the remaining seven minutes. I walked or rather trotted—after Hawkins, through the gates, down the platform, and along by the train until we reached the locomotive—or the place where a decent, God-fearing locomotive should have been standing.
The customary huge iron horse was not in sight.
In its place stood what resembled a small flat-car. On the car I observed an affair which resembled something an enthusiastic automobilist might have conceived in a lobster salad nightmare.
It was, I presume, merely an abnormally large automobile engine; and along each side of it ran a big cylindrical tank.
“There, Griggs!” said Hawkins. “That doesn't look much like the old-fashioned, clumsy locomotive, does it?”
“I should say it didn't.”