CHAPTER XVI.
THE FIRST TRIP OF THE DUMMY.
I was in my element—in charge of a steam-engine. Though I had never seen a dummy before this one, I comprehended the machinery at a glance. I hardly heard the tumultuous yells of the Toppletonians as they manifested their joy, so absorbed was I in the study of the machine, and in the anticipation of what wonderful things it would do. Such an excited crowd as that which surrounded me I had never seen, and I was obliged to close the door of the engine-room to keep them out. I opened it with due deference when Mr. Tommy Toppleton, the president of the Lake Shore Railroad, made a demand for admission, but I remorselessly excluded the board of directors and the superintendent, to their great mortification, no doubt; but I did not know them just then.
Tommy and his father were busily engaged in a conversation which seemed to relate to me, when I rang the bell to indicate that the engine was ready for a start. This announcement was greeted with the usual volley of cheers, and the young gentlemen began to pile into the passenger apartment to a degree which perilled the powers of the car. There were at least a hundred of them, and it was impossible to accommodate the whole. The major directed his son to divide them into two companies; and, though all of them manifested a childish impatience to have the first ride, they submitted to the arrangement. Fifty of them filled the car, and Major Toppleton and Tommy honored me with their company in the engine-room.
“All aboard!” shouted the president.
“I think they need no such invitation,” I added, laughing.
“We must do things up in shape, you know. We are all ready now, Wolf,” replied Tommy, highly excited.
“I don’t know anything about the road on which I am to run, Mr. President,” I suggested, as a preparation for any accident which might happen.
“The road is all right, you may depend upon that,” answered Tommy.
“Of course, if the rails happen to be spread, or anything of that sort, we shall be thrown off the track.”