(Hosmer Photo)
The switch by the little reservoir, where trains may go left through the grove, or around the curve through the woods to Edaville. No. 7 is about to swing through the switch for the climb up the hill.
All set? Then take a look at this Plymouth: all right, isn’t she? Mr. Atwood bought her up to Quincy a year or so ago. Alec MacLellan, a railroad fan, told him about her. You should have seen her then: about the sorriest little mill you could imagine. No cab, no bell, no nothing. Mr. Atwood’s crew took over and, patterning their dream-engine after those big he-Plymouths, they built her into this trim little cock-sparrow!
For real economy she puffs black all over the ledger. Will haul two or three cars like nobody’s business; will do shifting and light work as well as a steam engine. One man can run her without continually getting down to tend his fire. Has her limit, of course; but she weighs only four tons.
There: the work train’s going out; the passenger is hauling up to the depot to swap passengers for her next trip; I think that No. 4 is going out around the Edaville loop into the station that way. Why don’t we ride in on her?
(Moody Photo)
John Holt and Charlie Smith have invaded the sacred precincts of pullman cars by bringing the sooty freight train right into Edaville station—and see the crowd stare!
