Rolling, Steaming, Squealing into Port.

“The lost is found,” commented Ennis. “Let's walk down to where the engine stops, so we'll have plenty of time to meet the crew. Wish I was going along.”

Locomotives have always fascinated me, but as this giant hog of a machine in action came rolling, steaming, squealing into port, I gazed at it with abiding inquisitiveness.

“Engine 659, the biggest we've got,” called Ennis, above the din of arrival, as the train came to a stop. “And the fastest,” he added, though he probably knew I would reach that conclusion in the ensuing two hours. We walked alongside the tender as the fireman climbed up and aft and prepared to take on water. The engineer, we noted by his torch, was letting himself down out of the cab, on the side opposite us.

At Ennis' direction-I was yet in his hands-we walked around in front of the pilot. That locomotive looked a mile high and a quarter-of-a-mile across. Continuing, we came upon the engineman as, with torch in hand, he was bending over in an effort to make certain that no boxes on his tender were hot, nor any cups devoid of grease or oil.

“It's Sid Bean,” called the trainmaster. His sally of a few minutes before, “If it's either Wilcoxson or Sid Bean, you'll not be very late in St. Louis,” flashed in my mind, though I said nothing.

We approached the big, good-natured engineer. After an introduction we shook hands. Then Bean, taking the special order that Ennis proffered him authorising my transportation in the engine cab instead of in a coach far in the rear, continued his oiling and inspecting. Presently the fireman came down from the tender and joined Ennis and me.