“I’m ready to take it,” Helen smiled. “What we want is news, more news and then more news.”
“This is really a good story,” the railroad man assured her. “Wait until you see the nine forty-five.”
“What’s the matter? Is it two or three hours late?”
“It will be in right on time,” the agent promised.
Helen sat down on a box on the platform to await the arrival of the morning local. Resting there in the warm sunshine, she pulled her copy of the play book out of her pocket and read the second act, with her big scene, carefully. The words were natural enough and she felt that she would have little trouble remembering them.
She glanced at the depot clock. It was nine forty. The local should be whistling for the crossing down the valley. She looked in the direction from which the train was coming. There was no sign of smoke and she knew it would be late.
She had picked up her play book and turned to the third act when a mellow chime echoed through the valley. It was like a locomotive whistle and yet unlike one.
“New whistle on the old engine?” Helen asked the agent.
“More than that,” he grinned.
The Herald’s editor watched for the train to swing into sight around a curve but instead of the black, stubby snout of the regular passenger engine, a train of three cars, seemingly moving without a locomotive, appeared and rolled smoothly toward the station.