“Of course it's a little rough in finish—just a trial Alcomotive, you know—but it's going to do one thing to-day.”
“And that is?”
“It's going to sound the solemn death-knell of the old steam locomotive,” said Hawkins, evidently feeling some compassion for the time-honored engine.
“But will that thing pull a train? Is that the notion?”
“Notion! It's no notion—it's a simple, mathematical certainty, my dear Griggs. In that Alcomotive—it's run by vapors of alcohol, you know—we have sufficient power to pull fifteen parlor cars, twelve loaded day-coaches, twenty ordinary flat-cars, eighteen box-cars, or twenty-seven——”
“'Board for Newark, Elizabeth, Trenton, Philadelphia, and all points south,” sang out the man at the gates.
He was lying, but he didn't know it.
“Well, I guess it's—it's time to start,” Hawkins concluded rather nervously.
“Well, may the Lord have mercy on your soul, Hawkins,” I said feelingly. “Good-by. I'll be along on the next train—whenever that is.”
“What! You're coming on the Alcomotive with me!”