The next morning, at half past eight, Lewis Holgate started the dummy for Ucayga. He was very curious to know what I was going to do for a fireman; but I kept Tom in the shade till he was on the way to the foot of the lake. There was to be an awful row soon; but I was willing to postpone it as long as possible. My friend was faithful and intelligent, and before the train reached Ucayga, he comprehended his duties. I made my time without hurrying on this occasion. In the afternoon, just as the Lightning Express was to start on her second trip, Tommy rushed up to the engine, looking as furious as a lunatic. At Ucayga, where the dummy waited till the express train had started, Lewis Holgate discovered who his successor was. That Tom was a friend of mine was enough to bring down upon him the wrath of the president. With such an assistant, I was not likely to permit the Lightning Express to be a failure. “What are you doing on that engine?” demanded Tommy. “I fire on this engine now,” replied Tom Walton, good-naturedly. “No, you don’t! not while I am president of the Lake Shore Railroad. Get off, and clear out!” “If he leaves, I do,” I interposed, quietly; but my blood was up. Tommy looked at me, and ground his teeth with rage. CHAPTER XXIII. THE PRESIDENT AND THE ENGINEER. In five minutes it would be time for the Lightning Express train to start, and that was a very short time in which to fight the impending battle. Tommy was as unreasonable as a mule, and it was useless to attempt to conciliate him. Besides, I was tired of being buffeted by him. I was ashamed of my own servility, and much as I liked my occupation, I had deliberately come to the conclusion that it would be better for me to “hire out” for my board and clothes, than be a football for Tommy’s capricious toes. I had always treated him respectfully and kindly; but he had insulted me a dozen times within a month. “Are you the president of the Lake Shore Railroad?” demanded Tommy, violently. “I haven’t that honor,” I replied. “Then it is not for you to say who shall and who shall not run on the engine.” “That is very true; but it _is_ for me to say whether I will run on it myself or not. Tom Walton was regularly appointed by the superintendent to fire on this engine. He does his duty to my satisfaction.” “Who appointed him? I never heard of his appointment till half an hour ago.” Tom coolly took the letter of the superintendent from his pocket, and exhibited it to the president. “If that isn’t all right, it isn’t my fault,” added the new fireman. “That isn’t worth the paper it is written on,” said Tommy, his face red with wrath. “What’s the reason it isn’t?” inquired Wetherstane. “I wrote it and signed it, and I am superintendent of the road.” “Did you write that?” gasped Tommy. “I did; and I’m superintendent of the Lake Shore Railroad,” answered Wetherstane, whose back was up. “Without consulting me?”