Adventure Magazine Cover — page 128: what you’re looking at

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

122 There was but one outcome. Paddy Reese and Watkins were ordered to the Bull Ring the next morning. They met outside the D. & R. station in Santee the next morning, Paddy with his fat figure draped in a loose blue suit, and a black derby on his head, Watkins in the more stylish clothes of a young bachelor. On Paddy’s face was a cheerful grin. It broadened as he saw the apprehensive air which cloaked Watkins. “Ts it a funeral?” he asked with a chuckle. “A wake at least, I’m thinkin’,’”’ Watkins retorted gloomily. “Pish, laddie!’”’? And Paddy clapped his tall young fireman on the shoulder. ‘“That’s no way to be feelin’. We're only goin’ up to the Bull Ring. We'll hear a great collec- tion of that same stuff, ’tis true. But this McGann can’t talk all morning—an’ after- ward we'll take in a movie. Brighten up your headlight, son!”’ “He'll be out for blood this morning. I heard that the general manager sent him a hot telegram.”’ “Then T’ll give him a full pint o’ me blood, running over fer good measure. But not an’ ounce o’ flesh does the blatherskite get. Iwas an accident pure an’ simple. Though, mayhap, I should have had you go back at once an’ make sure the tank was filled. Still an’ however, don’t take it so hard. There was no lives lost. An hour, even if it was the President’s time, don’t call fer a couple o’ human sacrifices. Let’s go up an’ get it over with.” With a dubious shake of his head Wat- kins followed his fat friend. McGann had not yet entered the Bull Ring. Seven or eight other unfortunates were waiting in the small outer office. Sev- eral recognized Paddy and greeted him joyfully: “Here’s the victim! Paddy.” “No fair sleéping out on the road when you’re haulin’ the President, Paddy. I could have told you that.” “Say, Paddy! Did you do it on purpose, because you lost a ten-dollar bet last elec- tion?” Paddy tossed his derby up and caught it dexterously. Then beamed upon them. “What are you poor divils in for?” he queried slyly. “It’s a bad day fer you. McGann’!l eat you up, because the Special was late yesterday.” Death to you, T. T. Flynn “Thanks to you, you poor length o’ tripe!”’ Just then steps sounded in the hall. The men looked at one another and grew quiet. Paddy grinned at them. The next moment the heavy-set McGann strode through the door. His black brows were bent in a scowl. His right hand clutched a folded morning paper. He stopped just inside the door and looked them over, striking his right leg with impatient slaps of the paper. ‘“‘Are you Reese?” he suddenly snapped at Paddy, though he had looked square in his face as Paddy was oiling around the Special the day before. Paddy nodded. “T am that,” he admitted. ‘‘Where is your fireman?” Watkins moved his hand. McGann hunched his head lower and glared at them. And then, as he frequently did, kept them in the small anteroom, be- fore an audience, for their bawling out. He seemed to get a kick out of having witnesses. “Why,” he demanded icily, ‘‘didn’t the President’s Special make Petersburg on time?” “Because, sor,’ said Paddy blandly, “I stopped her five miles this side o’ Peters- burg an’ sent in fer another engine to haul us in.” McGann’s face reddened. “T know that!’ he snapped. your reason for stopping?” “The tank was dry an’ the water in the boiler was below the level o’ the last gauge cock. *Iwas courtin’ death to run her a mile farther.”’ McGann had received every detail with- in an hour after Paddy reached Peters- burg the evening before. But he played with the situation. “Why wasn’t there any water in the tank?” “The scoop was put out 0’ commission before we reached the trough. An’ when we found we had not taken water we was past Twin Pine water-tower. I thought I could make Petersburg. An’ I would have —if it’d been five miles nearer.”’ McGann looked sharply at Paddy to see if there was any sign of levity about him. But Paddy’s face was as smooth and serious as a Chinese Buddha. “Tt is my opinion,” said McGann with a sneer, ‘that you are a poor engineer. You “What was COMmMiclboook C© 5}