TOPPLETONIANS AND WIMPLETONIANS.
Middleport had a terrible fall in the unfortunate slip of the dummy engine; and if any Wimpletonians, on the other side of the lake, witnessed the catastrophe, I am afraid they were ill-natured enough to “crow” over it; for to have seen the thing hissing up and down on the opposite shore would have been a sore trial to them. For the present, at least, it was safe on the bottom of the lake, though, as the water was only six or eight feet deep, the machine would doubtless be saved in the end.
Though I belonged to Centreport, and was a graduate of the Wimpleton Institute, I could not find it in my heart to rejoice at the disaster which had befallen the Toppletonians. I was too much interested in the dummy to cherish any ill-will towards the machine or its owners. I wanted to see it work, and I could not help envying the engineer who was to enjoy the superlative happiness of running it. Such a position would have suited me, and I was sorry the railroad idea had not originated on our side of the lake. I wondered what Colonel Wimpleton would bring forward to offset this novelty of his rival, not doubting that he would make a desperate effort to outdo the major.
The accident filled the Toppletonians with dismay. They had been yelling with excitement and delight while laboring at the skids and rigging; but now they were aghast and silent. The Ruoara backed away from the submerged machine, and made her landing at the end of the pier. The dummy rested upright upon the bottom of the lake, with its roof well out of the water. I hardly took my eyes off of it while we were at the wharf, and I only wished the task of putting it on the track of the Lake Shore Railroad had fallen on me; for I thought I saw a plan by which it could be easily accomplished.
While the steamer was waiting I stepped upon the wharf, and mingled with the crowd of dismayed Toppletonians, who were gazing at the apparent wreck of all their hopes. I was acquainted with a few of them; but they regarded me with a feeling of jealousy and hatred which I am happy to state that I did not share with them.
“Our pipe is out,” said Tommy Toppleton, the only son of the major. “It’s too confounded bad! I meant to have a ride in that car by to-morrow.”
“It’s not so bad as it might be,” I ventured to remark.
“Who are you?” snapped Tommy, when he recognized me as a Centreporter.
“I belong on the other side, I know; but I was really sorry to see the thing go overboard,” I added, gently enough to disarm the wrath of the patron’s son.
“I think the Wimpleton fellows will feel good over this,” continued Tommy, who, if he had not been crestfallen at the misfortune of his clan, would have been impudent and overbearing to a plebeian like me.