Red sat down again.
“Those engines! Dave, they are as perfect—Lord, I love ’em! All the time they have been in there on the blocks, stopping and starting, stopping and starting; well, they have talked to me, David. One day a girl came in, a sightseer; and she yelled, ‘My, what a horrid noise! Isn’t it just awful?’ and I thought how nice it would be to tap her with a wrench, but I didn’t. I let that engine answer. I tuned her up and you couldn’t hear yourself think. Oh, but they are pretty, those engines! I don’t know whether I love ’em most when they are quiet and dreamin’ of what they can do, or when they are goin’ full speed with every part doin’ its bit, so smooth and so true that there’s no words to describe it.”
“You are a sentimental Irishman,” said David.
“I’m an Irishman that wants a sody,” said Red.
“They will be putting the last engine in place this afternoon, won’t they?” asked David.
“Yes, and I’ve got to be here. Then she will be practically finished. Just woodwork to wipe, and furniture to dust, and beds to make. Sounds like a housewarming.”
“Did you know that they have named her?” asked David.
“No. I thought she was the Silver Ship.”
“Of course, but she has to have a sort of given name, like the Shenandoah, poor girl, and the Dawn, and the Sun God, and the rest. I heard Mr. Hammond’s daughter named her. She’s the Moonbeam.”
“That’s all right,” said Red approvingly. “I give the girl credit. The Moonbeam! Faith, it grows on me, Davie. Moonbeam!”