“I think there is enough coal in the furnace,” replied he, opening the door. “I don’t think so. Shovel it in!” He put in about half a shovel full, and did it so doggedly that I was fully convinced he was laboring to defeat the experiment. I spoke to him very sharply. I threatened to stop the train, and send for Major Toppleton. “I am the president of this road. If you have any complaints to make, you will make them to me,” interposed Tommy, who was holding on to the cab with both hands. “Will you tell the fireman, then, to do his duty?” “He is doing it.” “Will you tell him to put in more coal?” “Fill it up, Lewis,” added Tommy, who seemed to be conscious that there was a point beyond which even he could not go. My rascally assistant then attempted to choke the fires by overloading the furnace; but I watched him, and succeeded in preventing him from doing the mischief he intended. I continued to increase the speed of the Ucayga until, I think, we were going at the rate of forty miles an hour. Tommy’s hair stood on end, and so did my own, for that matter; but I was desperate. I blew a long whistle as we approached Grass Springs. When I shut off the steam I looked at my watch. We had made the eight miles in twelve minutes, and the train was on time when we went into the Springs. I was satisfied then. The moment the engine stopped, Tommy jumped off. He did not say anything, but I was convinced that he did not like riding on the locomotive, going at lightning-express rates. I was glad to get rid of him. I need not say that the events of the morning made me very uncomfortable. I had seen but little of Tommy since the events on the Horse Shoe; but I was conscious that he was nursing his wrath against me. Long before this time he would have driven me out of Middleport if he had not been so unpopular himself among the boys. My friend Dick Skotchley--for as such I was proud to regard him--had fought my battle for me among the students. Tommy was so conceited and overbearing that all the fellows hated him; and they were ripe for a mutiny against him in his capacity as president of the road, as well as in that of major of the battalion. More than this, Tommy’s father was still my friend, though he feared his son. Without egotism I may say that I was popular in Middleport. If I had not been, I should have been kicked out, like a dog, by my imperious little master. “How are you, Wolf?” shouted Tom Walton, as I was about to start the train. “Jump on, Tom,” I replied, as the conductor gave the word to go ahead.