Tip Top Weekly No. 118: Frank Merriwell, Engine Wiper — page 4: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

2 TIP TOP WEEKLY. nes upon the track. The engineer was in the cab, while the fireman, with a long brass oiler in his hand, was making sure that every bearing was properly Jubricated. The well dressed youth had found ad- mission to the roundhouse in some man- ner, but it was plain encugh that he was unfamiliar there, or he would not have asked a wiper where to find the foreman. The wiper was an ugly-looking fellow, with red hair and freckled face. He had a brawny arm and thick shoulders, and he glared at the stranger as if longing to eat him. ‘ “What're ye in here for, anyhow?’’ he growled. ‘“‘That is my business. I asked you a civil question, but you have not seen fit to answer it civilly, so I see that I shall have to inquire elsewhere. ”’ ‘Wait!’ said the wiper, as the youth turned away. ‘‘You’re puttin’ on a heap 2 manners just because you can wear ‘fine clothes and keep yer hands clean. I’m just as good as you be.”’ **We will not argue about that at all, sir.”? ‘*Mebbe you’ll have to dirty yer hands some time.”’ | To this the stranger made no retort, but, as he started away, the wiper said: ‘“‘Hold on. Stay here, an’ I'll find the foreman.”’ “fAll right.” Then the man lounged away, growling to himself. He was gone nearly fifteen minutes, and when he returned he was acconipanied by four or five other wipers, all looking just as dirty and greasy as he did. The well-dressed youth was standing by the engine, his eyes taking in every- thing that was going on in the building. He had seen the waiting engine run out on the track and another one back in off the turn-table. Ina brief space of SEE OUR NEW COUPON OFFER—LAST PAGE time he had learned something about the work that went on in the roundhouse. ‘Well,’ growled the red-haired wiper, “ther foreman ain’t round. When he’s out, I take his place. What d’yer want?” ‘Never mind,’? said the youth. ‘I was looking for a job, but——_’’ “Hey? A job? What kind of a job?” The wiper was astonished, as he plain-. ly showed. “Most any kind of a job,’? was the quiet answer. ‘I will call when the fore- nan is in.”’ ‘“Well, dern my eyes! shouted the red-leaded man, bursting into a roar of coarse laughter. ‘‘Mebbe you wanted to hire out as General Superintendent, or President of the Road, or something of that sort? Haw! haw! haw!” “Haw! haw! haw!’ roared the other wipers. Some of the machinists stopped work and came where they could watch and listen; a crowd was collecting around the applicant for work, who began to show einbarrassment, his cheeks flushing. “Look at him, fellers!?’ cried the big — STs haw! Wiper, pointing at the stranger. lookin’ fer work—here! Haw! haw!” ‘‘Well, sir,’? said the youth, sharply, ‘“‘will you tell me what there is so very funny about that??? | : ‘“‘Oh, it ain’t funny a tall?!’ said the “It’s just thunderin’ ridicu-.é I s’pose you’d be satisfied with a- big man. lous! salary of ten thousand dollars a year??? ‘Oh, I might be willing to accept that,’ dryly answered the youth. ‘*T s’pose likely. What d’yer know?’ ‘About what?” **Runnin’ a railroad.”’ “Nothing. Iam not here to run the railroad, but to work for the men who do run it.’? COMMICLO© <S (C(O)