Coal-slinger Introduces Himself.

“My name is Ed Parker,” announced the coal-slinger for whom, presently, I amassed the greatest respect and sympathy.

“Now, you're all set,” concluded Ennis. “Follow the fireman and he'll take care of you.”

I climbed the iron ladder, gazed for a moment at the bulging boiler with its maze of bars, rods, levers and valves, noted that the place was warm enough, even in winter, and, at Parker's direction, positioned myself on a small seat directly in front of a larger cushion which the fireman occupied-or would have, had he been someone other than a busy fireman on Engine No. 659.

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In a moment, Engineer Bean climbed aboard. Then followed a careful reading by both men of typed orders on flimsy, silhouetted against a lone electric light, the rays from which were noticeably shaded. Almost immediately, two shrill whistles, played apparently by air, sounded from the top of the cab, and Sid Bean took his seat on the right-hand side, opposite me. Somebody touched, pressed or pulled something somewhere, and the engine bell started somersaulting. Simultaneously I felt a jar and, looking out of my meagre portion of the cab window, discovered that we were starting to move. The ride had commenced.

When it comes to adventure, I have never claimed to be other than a tenderfoot. Front line service in France had its tragic thrills. A few years ago, while up in an airplane with a strange, though trusted, ex-army pilot, I suffered -using that word advisedly-a generous shock when at three thousand feet we went suddenly into a series of loops, and later did a bit of spiralling, barrel-rolling and volplaning, for-as my pilot afterward explained-good measure. A kick, for me, is always there, when doing the unusual.

So, when the sense of motion came, I began an earnest survey, with the aid of what light there was, of my surroundings. I gazed straight ahead, sighting the track along the huge steel bulk that even after a few hundred feet was starting to rock slightly. The oblong window in front of me, with the slit extending vertically, permitted vision. I was struck by the transformed shape of the huge locomotive, as viewed from back in the cab. Its graceful lines, as seen from the side, and from a distance, had vanished. It looked more like a long projectile, a mass of some sort, with boards and rods running the length of it. I wondered how Engineer Sid Bean was making it, and glanced across toward his side.

The fireman stepped down from behind me, turned to a large shovel in the tender door, and as he swung around to face the boiler there was a loud hissing sound and two heavy doors on the firebox parted company, as a pair of inverted scissor blades would open. There was a blinding flash as the light and heat from that seething firebox flooded the cab, and I could see my trusted guardian, Sid Bean, holding resolutely to the end of a long lever which coursed, at an angle, toward the upper middle of the boiler. Seldom, after that, did he have his hand off this propelling bar, the throttle.