Henshaw nodded and motioned for Tim to accompany him into the roundhouse.
Electric lights high up under the roof tried vainly to pierce the shadows which shrouded the hulking monsters of the rails as they rested in their stalls. There must have been fourteen or fifteen locomotives in the roundhouse, some of them dead; others breathing slowly and rhythmically, awaiting their turn to be called for service on the road.
At the far end of the roundhouse there was a glare of light as hostlers finished grooming the 1064 for its run that night on the mail.
The 1064 was the latest thing the Southwestern boasted in the way of fast-passenger motive power. It was capable of hauling sixteen all-steel Pullmans at seventy miles an hour and was as sleek and trim as a greyhound.
The engineer took his torch and made a final inspection to be sure that everything was in readiness for the test run. Then he extinguished the torch, threw it up into the cab, and motioned for Tim to follow him.
The little engineer scrambled up the steps and swung into the cab. Tim followed but with not nearly as much grace.
The fireman was busy with a long firehook and the glow from the open door of the firebox lighted the cab with a ruddy brilliance. When the iron doors of the firebox slammed shut and the fireman straightened up, the engineer introduced his fireman, Harry Benson.
Introductions completed, the engine crew fixed a place for Tim on the seat behind the engineer.
Henshaw looked at his watch. It was eleven forty-five. He stuck his head out the window and looked at the turn-table. It had been swung into place ready for the 1064 to steam out of the house.
Harry Benson started the bell ringer, Henshaw released the air and opened the throttle a notch. The 1064 came to life, steam hissed from its cylinders, the drivers quivered and moved slowly in the reverse motion. The 1064 slid out of the roundhouse, rocked a little as it went over the turn-table and then eased down the darkened yards until it came to a stop near the end of the long train shed.