No coaxing can change her mood. In vain her master bestows greatest care upon her; with each effort she grows more sullen.
Jockey Playfair's engine was in the sulks on the trip of which we write. The Silver Swan had never seemed in better temper than at the start. Delays in making connections, the bad condition of the track at places on account of the recent heavy rains, with other difficulties, had caused them to lose time. The engineer, however, had confidently expected to make up for this before reaching Wood's Hollow, sixty miles above the Big Y junction.
In the midst of his anxiety his fireman was taken suddenly ill. Then his engine began to fail him. This last gave him more uneasiness than all the rest.
"Behind time, with a sulky engine and a sick fireman!" he muttered, to himself. "I see it coming—something dreadful! Never mind, old Jockey! You are on your through trip to-night, but stand to your post like a man."
During the next ten miles nothing was said by the three, and then, as they stopped long enough at a way-station to take on a solitary passenger, Jockey merely remarked:
"One minute gained. If we can't do better than that on our next run I'll never touch the lever again."
As Jockey knew, he was now on the most favorable section of the road. No signals were to be expected for a long distance, and there was no reason why he should not regain a good part of the lost time. If he didn't he resolved it should be no fault of his.
As soon as he was fairly under way again, he "linked her up." That means he drew the reversing-rod back until the catch held it near the centre, so the steam, instead of being allowed to follow the length of the piston-rod, beat alternately the heads of the cylinders, giving the highest momentum acquired.
Rock understood his duty perfectly and was determined the Silver Swan should not hunger for fuel under his care.
"Mind how well the boy fires," said Gilly, forgetting for a moment his pain.