Evening Star Newspaper, July 2, 1925, Page 35

| s000000000000, Y . s e0eseesssetscsere (Continued from Yest “Now listen, Hank—"" old-timer, gleam of relenting in the big boss' eve. But the argument he contem- plated starting was uever made. For the chairman of the bo; ing to hurt the feeling: so old and o falthful an employe, had bethought himself of what he deemed a. happy compromise. Happy! He had picked over the apple cart! “Tell you what, Dad,” he broke into the beginning of the old man's plea. “If you want ‘to you and Uncle Mickey can ride in the cab with Buek McMasters and Jazzbo.” Ride as passengers in the cab where the pair had ruled so long! Hands off the throttle and the shovel on the Sabine's last trip! “Hank,” said Dad Adams, mourn fully, “I didn't know you'd had a glass eve put in your face.” “Glass eve? questioned the chair- man of the board, puzzled. Yeh,” said Dad Adams. “When 1 started talkin' to yo' I thought I done suw a little sympathy in one o' yo' eyes. The right one. I see it's a eve now. ently—"yo’ men enough t’ take the ol 1 Brashear? Huh! We're me 1 take he: Scouts yo got in her cab now, get our dander up!” “Oh, come, Dad—" began the chairman of the board, starting a half. laughing, half-vexed expostulation he liad no chance to finish. For the old engineer had wheeled on his heel. “Come on, Mickey,” he called to his old fireman. *Le's get outa this dam’ kindergarten an’ find some grown-up men."” Side by side the two of them stalked from the vards. In the Sabine's cab young Buck Me- Masters caught his signal to get under way, Jazzbo swung his shovel. With her old bell brightly polished, clang- ing to the world its warning that here came a locomotive, the Sabine hooted definantly on her tiny whistle. To the hiss of jetting steam she rolled in glory. The click of the movie cameras was drowned in the ragged cheer of farewell from the shop and round- house gang that had rebuilt her and sent her forth on her last trip. But Dad Adams and Uncle Mickey Rior- dan were not there to see. Outside the clinker and strewn lot, they were on their to execute the plan that had just sprung, full-pano- vl into Dad’s seething old brain. began the enough it we * hell with his pension!” Dad had | exploded. as he thought he saw a | not want- | ay from them two Girl | SHACKLES OF SERVICE BY MEIGS C. FROST. (Copyright, by Doubleday, Pags & Co.) THE FEVEN One of a series of best short stories publish- ed during the past year. ressse0eessstesssene the rolls. We'll show 'em! Yo' know | the sidin’ where they gotta wait fo’ | the Sky Rocket. I'll hire us an auto- | mobile. We'll cut ‘cross country an’ et there ahead o’ both o’ them trains. | Come on oveh t' my house. We'll get | |us a coupla my duck huntin’ shot- All we need ‘em fo' is bluff.” sabine, after she cleared e yards, started up the valley by the winding river route, the two vet- shotzuns, hired automobile £ on their way over | the level parish roads, headed west | for the siding where the old locomo. tive must stop to let the Sky Rocket pass. Headed west! It was the appro- | priate direction, for the stuff that seethed in Dad Adams’ soul was v wild and very Western. Tt had been Hard-boiled Hank, him- none other, to whom the S trip was due. all Street financlers, ' Commerce Commission, labor unions and State railroad commissions tempo- rarily forgotten, he had been tramp- | ing the broad acr of 1h tation that Autumn, g planter friend, Alan Blake, in quest of quall. And before his eves had risen a ghost. Tt was a wreck of a | at that, as it stood on the plan. | ta rusty private track. The | shost of a locomotive. Its smokestack canted crazily. hoiler was patched and rusty ‘x'.n) w triumph of unpaintec lleg »dwork the hands | plantation’s assi ft The The of ging aggedly over the edge L!ke the frayed paves of a swamp shack. Indifferent- | the 46 by 34 inch firebox burned rd wood or bagassee—the crushed er of the sugar cane that is left after the heavy rollers of the sugar house have extracted the precious Juice. Anything to get up steam went In that firebox, from damaged hay up, or down. “Where the devil did’you get that, asked the gues “x ught to know grinned his host. “Bought it of your own rail- road when somebody junked it. Shi been hauling cane cars here for vears. Worn out. Got to junk her myself, I guess.” A great light was breaking into the brain of Henry Burlingame, as he looked at that wheeled junk-pile. “Junk hell!” he e med. “If 1 can find out the bonehead who sold that locomotive without letting me know I'll make a janitor out of him! out “My boy's got a chicken |“That name, the S farm where we both c'n live long’s |on her when I bought her.” we wants, Mickey, if he cuts us oft'n | That's the old Sabine, or I'm a liar.” “You're no smiled Blake. bine, was painted Henry Burlingame had not reached nd |a his present eminence by hesitation in his mental processes. “How much'll you take for her as she stands?” he asked. per or your raflroad doing this buying? “Didn’t 1 tell you last night that's the way you birds do business?” thrust the hard-boiled one. One price to a white man, another price to a darky, and the biggest price of all to lroad. I won't lie to you, . By the great brass brake: I'm buying this for the Delta- Valley and the line is on the verge of passing around the hat. What's your price?" ‘Oh, you said beam, can have it for $400." carelessly. “It's worth hundred as junk.” Burlingame fished pocket and found a coin. 0 I pay vou six hundred. ou three,” he proposed. in his The coin spun. The ancient Sabine ame again the property of the rail- road in which she had spent decades And the price of the trans- $300. Even a flipped coin had the habit of behaving for Hard- boiled Hank. The locomotive's ex-owner grinned. “Now you got her, what're you go- |ing to do with her?” “WE ¥,” quoth the chairman of the Delta-Valley board, “I used to | hop off the ties with the rest of the section gang when that old girl waltz- t. She was a locomotive! The Niles folks turned her out in 1855. They don't make ‘em that way any more. Yorkshire iren boller plates and copper tubes! Lord, the work she’s done! She used to haul con- | struction material from the Berwick supp] depot up to the construction forces at the front. I was a kid back in '78, when she was golng strong. [ remember when we loaded her and eight old flat cars on the ferry at Mor. gan City and landed her on Bayou Teche opposite the old Grandwood plantation. She used to roll from there out past the old Rocohoc Pit to et the earth to build that embank- ment through Baker's Swamp. Old Dad Adams was her engineer and Un- cle Mickey her fireman. Never could separate that pair. Never could get 'em on_any other engine but the Sa- bine. When we built that bridge across Berwick Bay she was the first locomotive across it. She pulled the first passenger train when we com- pleted the line into Brashear. She pulled the first train when we pushed across the Sabine River into Texas, back in '80-something. And once when a bunch of us were down with yellow fever in a construction camp on Bayou Teche, she carried us on flat to the hospital. 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Note the excess wear due to uneven flexing and dis- tortion. () Built to dis- e car Miller Flat Car and Heavy-duty Truck and Bus Tires. Tubes and Accessories Mille GEARED-TO-THE-ROAD. BUY MILLER HOUSEHOLD RUBBER GOODS UNIFLEX CORD Branch— 925 11th St. N.W, Phone Main 8714 Qs T MiKler Budber Go. o K. T.—Alowm, & STAR out who was out telling m Hank, that's all interesting his- tory,” said his host. “But relieve my mind. What are you going to do with her, now you've got her? Nickel-plata her and use her as a watch charm?” The massive fist of Hapd-boiled Hank smote his palm. As he had talked an idea had been born—an idea whereby he might justify seeming folly. “I'll tell you what I'm going to do with her!" he roared. “Say, our Bra- shear way there's a bunch of Creoles who've fotgotten how they were when they first got a rall- road. I'm going to have the gang down at the shops rebuild this, baby from the ground up. We'll dress her up and let her run under her own steam from New Orleans up to Bra- shear, where we've given ‘em a new station with a big park around it. Then we'll put her on a spur track in the park, as a monument. Let 'em moron sold her with- dam’ happy | THURSDAY r and remember the days when they were giving rallroads land, so it would run through their dam’ towns, instead of tryin’ to make a railroad man walk a tight rope over a hornet's nest while they prod the hor- nets.” Alan Rlake grinned quizzically at his guest. “Hank,” he chuckled, “all that stuff about teaching ’'em an object lesson may be true. But I know you, you sentimental old son-of-a-gun. You're buying that junk because it's as much alive to you as my old saddle horse is to me. And that rack of bones is eat- ing his fool head off for the rest of his natural life down in the pasture there, for just the same reason the old Sa- bine’s going to rest in glory up at the Brashear station park.” “Humph!" said the Honorable Hen- ry Burlingame. “You're as big a fool as you always were, Alan. I'll bet you $10 I get more quail than you, next ‘hree coveys we flush?” Good-bye FLIES' and MOSQUITOES! IMPROVED DETHOL gets 'em. Every one. No fuss. Nevera “miss.” The wonderful new secret formula does it. Just spray till the air is misty. Keep the room closed a few minutes. Then sweep them out—dead. Spray IMPROVED DETHOL about the porch. Itkeeps mosquitoes away. Simple —Safe—Sure. 1f ot satisfied with Improved Deth ing for your money back. Hali-pi Gallons. $4.00. Combination package containing sprayer, $1.00. Dethol Mfg. Co., Inc. a 75c; Quarts, $1.25; pint can an The pure rich cream used in “The Velvet Kind” comes from our own creameries. Packages are automatically filled direct from our freezers. ) favor us by Soc; Pints, Richmond, Va JULY But he felt uncomfortable as he|Henry Burlingame, as most real bund-‘ He|ers are. But he would have died be:| | knew why he had changed the sub-|fore admitting it, as Dad Adams would Jject mo abruptly, by making fhat bet.|have geni:‘d his creaking joints to the eath. pocketed the $10 an hour later. He knew that Alan Blake had put his finger on the exact reason he had bought the old Sabine out of her clos- ing years of bondage. But how the devil could a man they called “Hard- boiled Hank" admit a thing like that? The answer was simple. He couldn't. The only thing he could do was try not to look sheepish, and charge it up to advertising or something. 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