"I don't like to complain," said I; "but this pie—"
"What's the matter with the pie?" he asked, bristling a little.
"Why," said I, "it's so confoundedly good that even a whole one couldn't satisfy me!"
"These men on the engines are great characters."
Ever since the registry of that complaint I have really had more than the law allows on that particular car. Preferential treatment that would fill the Interstate Commerce Commission with anguish is always mine. Neither the rack nor all the fires of the Inquisition could extract from me its precise identity, lest its kindly crew be fined for overcourtesy to a specific individual.
But to return to the engineers: I have always cherished the memory of a stolid old graybeard in command of a special train circumstances once compelled me to hire in order to meet an Arizona date for which there was no possible regular connection by rail. My special started from Phœnix shortly after midnight of a stormy day, to carry me down to Maricopa, there to connect with an early morning express into Tucson. The train consisted of an engine and a single day coach. Inasmuch as it was mine for the time being, and at considerable cost, I decided to exercise my proprietary rights and ride on the engine. A heavy rain which had been falling all day had changed the dry, sandy beds of the Salt and Gila rivers to torrential streams, to the great disadvantage of the roadbeds. We literally seemed to be feeling our way along in the dark, until suddenly the clouds broke away and a glorious moon shed its radiance over everything. Just at this point the engineer with a startled exclamation seized the throttle and brought us to a disquietingly abrupt stop. He whispered a word or two to the fireman, who immediately descended from the cab and ran on ahead along the track until he was completely lost to sight.
"What's the trouble?" said I somewhat apprehensively, as the engineer began examining his machinery.
"Oh, nothing," said he. "I've just sent Bill ahead to see if the bridge is still there."
"Bridge? Still there?" I queried. "There's nothing wrong with the bridges, I hope."