They had proceeded fifteen or twenty miles, and their interest in the outside world was beginning to flag a little, when the conductor of the train came along, and, taking a vacant seat by the side of Whistler, commenced a conversation with a man seated behind them.
“Reed has got one of his odd fits to-day,” said the conductor, in a tone which Whistler could not help overhearing.
“Has he?” inquired the other man.
“Yes; he’s as short as pie-crust,” replied the conductor.
“Well, Reed always was subject to these cross spells from a boy,” said the other. “We were as intimate as two mice in a stocking when we went to school; but he used to have the sulks terribly then, once in a while, and wouldn’t speak to any body all day long. I reckon it has grown upon him ever since.”
“Yes, I think it has,” said the conductor.
“But Reed is as good-hearted a fellow as ever lived, after all, and a first-rate engineer,” added the passenger, laying great stress on the last adjective.
“Yes, he is the best engineer that runs on this road, by all odds,” said the conductor. “He is always on hand, and he is cautious and careful almost to a fault. He is cool, too, and thinks quick when any accident happens.”
“He understands machinery pretty well, I should think,” observed the passenger.
“Yes; he knows every bolt and screw in his engine just as well as you know the way from your house to your shop,” replied the conductor.