Chums No. 785, Vol. XVI — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

Proof Positive, siz. X. has recently taken to per cering. other morning his observant little son i in with the startling intelligence that ns were “awfal hungry!” tut [ve just fed them, my boy!” replied X. (hen you can't have given ’em enough, “ went on the young hopeful. “They’re ¢ bits o’ stones, mortar, pebbles, and such n Mr. X. gently ———— that a certain nt of grit would do them no harm, in ¢ was a necessary part of the diet. a though he seemed scarcely con- i, said no more just then, but resolved watch developments. was on the following morning that the t eames ur approached his father and ather, you don’t know everything about ling and keeping hens, do you?” No, my son!” retumed Mr. X. “I’m ly @ novice as yet.” i'm!” commented Johnny sagely. “I cht so! You've fed them hens on pebbles they're laying stone oges It’s right!” Mr. X. stared incredulously—‘for I’ve -hed one to see!” chany had been at the “nest eggs.” \ HUNDRED MILES IN A HUNDRED MINUTES. My Night Ride on a Locomotive. I I’ is almost midnight, but the big terminus is just as busy as though it were mid- lay. Men from the post-office are busy with the mails, porters are busy with the passengers ind passengers are busy with themselves. All hurry and bustle and excitement. And all the time the long train stands waiting, and the ver surveys is locomotive as lovingly as hildren survey theirs. Just now the engine, spick and span and bright as a mirror, was shunted from its shed, then backed to the train. It elosed up gently, ind not a passenger knew that it had touched buffers. Then some men affixed the iplings, while others adjusted the signal vd, At that moment an official introduced me to the driver, and I stepped on the foot- plate F Off We Go. t is strange the feeling that grips you when vou first mount a monster of the iron road. : cannot help being afraid that you may fall it is the want of room does it. Just a w feet of space there is, and that is all, Nor n you help asking why on earth they are ‘ing all that coal with them; and how long takes to initiate oneself into the mysteries this glittering array of handles an —— d clocks, I meant to ask, but just as the query reaches the tip of my tongue a shrill whistle sounds, the driver pushes the regulator yvor. there is @ creak, another whistle, puff, rs re off. . At Set = motion is pleasant; the engine t glides. Then the pace becomes more — ind the big red and green lights on the ou ts of the big station reflect themselves on the shining metals, until everything eer 4 and green, and I grip the side of the oker re I sit. As 1 do so the lights vanish ; = ce left them behind. Then the driver touc _ something else, the stoker begins to fire up, an . trice we are careering along at a pace i I ean only describe as hair-raising. Through Station and ih oagaglh a w We 4 ust passing throngh a sta ion ; we ° o alting’ through another. ‘‘Don’t nt to look yet,” the driver shouts. ton to the whiss and the dull meena 4 a station.” Hardly have the words eft chen the thunder of artillery breaks about . “Tunnel!” the driver howls. “You're rot frightened, are you?” And all the while stoker is firing up as unconcernedly aa Jane does, safe in the kitchen of your nt home. x : x cheer me up # little, the driver kindly in- : 1 me just now that the train was # non- - that there would be no halt uutil we bad icached a station that was a hundred miles CHUMS. © away. 1 ‘ound, and look into the night; it is pits ark, Once I take to wondering what would should a-sigt his duty, or fall ever asleep, or suddenly die, and what would be the result if a train wrecker threw a few heavy sleepers across our — But the thought. is too unnerving, and I dis- miss it. It does not do to think of accidents when you are racing through the night at a speed of sixty miles an hour. It is terrible. On and on. Now a whizz—a station; now a roar—a tunnel; now a straight run for miles through a beautiful country, which I cannot see. My friends are busy. At intervals of a few minutes the fireman touches the driver on the shoulder—the roar renders «som 4 quite useless—as a signal for him to open the fire- box door. Then I can see the glowing flames within, and feel them half roasting my legs, while the stoker flings several shovels of coal into the furnace with unerring aim. An interesting process, There is an art in feeding a locomotive fire. The coal must be evenly distributed, and not too closely packed. Only a small quantity of coal is supplied at a time, but every shovel load is properly placed 80 as to keep the heat level and the steam at the proper pressure. There’s Plenty to Do, Chums who suppose that the driver and the stoker have little or nothing to do, when the engine has heen cleaned and they have started on their journey, are very much mistaken. The water feeds must be examined carefully, and the steam gauge must be watched closely. This means that the stoker must walk round the locomotive front, and whilgit is going at top speed too. Also, from timg to time, water must be thrown on the footplgfe, else it will become hotter than is pleasant $6 the feet. We have now coverfd sixty miles in sixty minutes. And for first time the driver leaves his post, are about to take up water, but no stopping, mind; we take it while going full speed. “The water is in a narrow tank nearly half if mile long, situated between the rails. When the driver gives a signal agreed upon, the fireman draws a bar. At that moment a curved pipe drops from beneath the tender, and dips into the tank, In a flash we are sur- rounded with spray, and the driver explains that the water is being forced upwards by the impetus of our progress. Almost before I real- ise it the tanks on the tender are overflowing. Then the stoker draws the bar back again. The pipe ascends to its place, and all is over. Described as a Comet. On and on. The night seems to be blacker now, and the pace seems faster, and the roar louder; but the latter, I learn, is because we are racing between rocky cuttings. On and on, the driver standing like a statue, the stoker lovingly feeding his fire, I leaning over the side, gazing into the blackness, and trying Merely an Oversight. | KICK-OFF AT 330 ADMISSION 62 / the driver; i called my locomotive a fier with the longest, lit-up e The smoke emitted he called ‘ puils of ind tion,’.and he wrote that the comet see have scented the Last Day, and to be @ from it; and that its howl—the locomotive’s whistle—was a howl of warning to onlookers to prepare for the judgment.” ‘ From Night to Day. On and on, Just when I have grown aceus tomed to the pace, just when the driver has laughingly informed me that my face is like that of a nigger, just when my ears are learn- ing to know the roar, I look ahead and a lot of little stars that are not in esky. It’s a town, our first stop. In a few minute: the driver touches a lever, and we slow down, — and two or three moments later we ghde out” of night into what appears to be day, and we stop, and I can hear the porters out % the name of a place that is a hundred Suiten Pons from London. - isu Sis are We have taken, to do it, just a hundred minutes. BELONGING to a certain Y¥ ri ent was a youth of very small stature, who, to make himself look as imposing as the rest, had a very tall horse. It was well known that Private Robinson could not mount unassisted, . so there was great amusement when one day they heard the order: “ Private Robinson, dismount.” Private Robinson gave no sign. Again the order was given, with a like re. sult. A third time the captain gave fhe order, “Private Robinson, dismount.” But the little private, losing patience at last, roared out: — “Don’t be silly, captain; you know IT cant get on again!” =e As Defined. Reo A scwoormasreR asked his class to define “generation.” One solitary hand went up. “Well, what is a generation?” asked the master. . “One of Tommy Jones’s fam’ly, purr,” was the queer but confident answer. The master stared, as well he might, despite a large experience of the oddity ‘of juvenile replies. Proceeding to question the pupil as to how he had imbibed such an idea of the meaning of the word generation, he elicited the fact that it was due te the boy having seen a photograph of a classmate named Tommy Jones, who had been photo- graphed with his father, grandfather, and great grandfather, the picture, which was ex- hibited in a local photo e owindow, being entitled “Four Generations.” _ Couldn't Expect It. A weanrar gentleman, spending a holiday in © Scotland, saw a splendid specimen of a collie. dog, and asked the owner what he would take for the dog. ; ; “Ah, but you'll be taking him back to London?” the Scot asked cautiously. pa, “Certainly, that is my intention, if you'll sell him to me.” i “TI no could part wi’ Bob,” the dog’s owner then said emphatically. “I’m over fond-like o° him.” And even the liberal offer which the visitor made was no inducement. To his surprise, however, he later saw the dog sold to a drover for half what he had offered, and he asked for an explanation. “You said you could not sell him,” he said to the Scot, OO eg) “No, I didna say I could not sell him; I said I could not part wi’ him,” said the High- lander. “Bob’ll be hame in two or three days from noo; but I couldna ask hit to coom all the way frae London. Na, that would be too much to ask!” ‘ a Oe a First Your: “Hullo, old man; what are you errcowd Youth; “Nothing.” Second Youth: ; First Youth: “How about a walk? I think it wonld do us both good.” ie Second Youth: “So do I. Good-bye.” —