"I don't know, I never went," I replied, and had a mind to add, "I know it is just too lovely for anything."
It was not necessary for him to say he was from the east, we eastern people soon tell where we are from if we talk at all, and if we do not tell it in words our manners and tones do. New Englanders, New Yorkers, and Pennamites all have their own way of saying and doing things. I went to the "Valley House" for the night and took the early train next morning for McCook which is in about the same longitude as Valentine and North Platte, and thus I would go about the same distance west on all of the three railroads.
I will not tell of the way out, only of my ride on the engine. I have always greatly admired and wondered at the workings of a locomotive, and can readily understand how an engineer can learn to love his engine, they seem so much a thing of life and animation. The great throbbing heart of the Centennial—the Corliss engine, excited my admiration more than all the rest of Machinery Hall; and next to the Corliss comes the locomotive. I had gone to the round house in Wymore with my cousins and was told all about the engines, the air-brakes, and all that, but, oh, dear! I didn't know anything after all. We planned to have a ride on one before I left, but our plans failed. And when at Cambridge the conductor came in haste and asked me if I would like a ride on the engine, I followed without a thought, only that my long wished for opportunity had come. Not until I was occupying the fireman's seat did I think of what I was doing. I looked out of the window and saw the conductor quietly telling the fireman something that amused them both, and I at once knew they meant to give me "a mile a minute" ride. Well I felt provoked and ashamed that I had allowed my impulsiveness to walk me right into the cab of an engine; but I was there and it was too late to turn back, so to master the situation I appeared quite unconcerned, and only asked how far it was to Indianola.
"Fourteen miles," was the reply.
Well, the fireman watched the steam clock and shoveled in coal, and the engineer never took his eyes off the track which was as straight as a bee-line before us, and I just held on to the seat and my poke hat, and let them go, and tried to count the telegraph poles as they flew by the wrong way. After all it was a grand ride, only I felt out of place. When nearing Indianola they ran slow to get in on time, and when they had stopped I asked what time they had made, and was answered, eighteen minutes. The conductor came immediately to help me from the cab and as he did so, asked:
"Well, did they go pretty fast?"
"I don't know, did they?" I replied.
I was glad to get back to the passenger coach and soon we were at McCook.
After the train had gone some time I missed a wrap I had left on the seat, and hastily had a telegram sent after it. After lunching at the railroad eating house, I set about gathering information about the little "Magic City" which was located May 25th 1882, and now has a population of 900. It is 255 miles east of Denver, on the north banks of the Republican river, on a gradually rising slope, while south of the river it is bluffy. It is a division station and is nicely built up with very tastily arranged cottages. Only for the newness of the place I could have fancied I was walking up Congress street in Bradford, Pennsylvania. Everything has air of freshness and brightness. The first house was built in June, '82.
I am surprised at the architectural taste displayed in the new towns of the west. Surely the east is becoming old and falling behind. It is seldom a house is finished without paint; and it is a great help to the appearance of the town and country, as those who can afford a frame house, build one that will look well at a distance.