“See you in the morning,” he called. Then he whipped the Good News across the field and streaked into the southwest.
Tim watched the plane until it disappeared before he turned to the car which had brought them from town. On his way back to the city he drove leisurely, thoroughly enjoying the sweetness of the spring afternoon.
The road swung onto a viaduct that spanned the myriad rails of the Southwestern. A transcontinental limited was pulling into the long station, feathery puffs of steam drifting away from the safety valve. The train came to a stop, porters swung their stools down on the platform and the passengers descended. The engineer dropped down from the cab and started oiling around the iron speedster of the rails.
There was something thrilling, fascinating about it and Tim looked forward with high interest to his trip that night. He drove on up town, returning the car to the garage.
After dinner alone he walked to his room, found a suit of coveralls and an old cap and bandanna handkerchief. These he rolled up and wrapped in paper. That done he sat down for an hour of reading the latest aviation journals and at eight o’clock he set his alarm clock for ten-thirty and laid down for a nap.
The next thing Tim knew the alarm was ringing steadily and he roused himself from the deep sleep into which he had fallen. He washed his face and hands in cold water and felt greatly refreshed, ready for whatever the night might have in store in the way of adventure.
On the way to the station Tim stopped at an all night restaurant and enjoyed a platter of delicious country sausage. Then he continued his walk toward the railroad yards.
The reporter descended the steps from the viaduct and entered the brightly lighted station. It was two minutes to eleven when he walked up to the ticket window and introduced himself. The agent on duty handed him his credentials and told him the shortest way to the roundhouse.
Tim left the station and its glow of light. Outside the night air was cool and he pulled his leather jacket closer around him. Great arc lights gleamed at intervals in the yard and a chugging switch engine disturbed the quiet.
Three blocks from the station was the roundhouse with its countless chimneys and numberless doors. Tim picked his way carefully over the switches, skirted the yawning pit that marked the turn-table and entered the master mechanic’s office at the roundhouse.