"Thank you, Mr. Griscom," answered Ralph, his face beaming at the handsome compliment. "I don't forget, though, that you helped some." "Oh, so, so," declared Griscom. "I say, Fogg, you're named right." It was to Lemuel Fogg that Griscom spoke. Fogg was Ralph's fireman on the present trip. He presented a decided contrast to the brisk, bright engineer of No. 999. He shoveled in the coal with a grim mutter, and slammed the fire door shut with a vicious and unnecessary bang. "What you getting at?" he growled, with a surly eye on Griscom. "Fogg--fog, see? foggy, that's you--and groggy, eh? Sun's shining--why don't you take it in? No slouch privilege firing this magnificent king of the road, I'm thinking, and you ought to think so, too." "Huh!" snapped Fogg, "it'll be kid luck, if we get through." "Oho! there's where the shoe pinches, is it?" bantered the old railroad veteran. "Come, be fair, Fogg. You was glad to win your own spurs when you were young." "All right, mind the try-out, you hear me!" snorted Fogg ungraciously. "You mind your own business." "Say," shot out Griscom quickly, as he caught a whiff from Fogg's lips, "you be sure you mind yours--and the rules," he added, quite sternly, "I advise you not to get too near the furnace." "Eh, why not?" "Your breath might catch fire, that's why," announced Griscom bluntly, and turned his back on the disgruntled fireman. Ralph had not caught this sharp cross-fire of repartee. His mind had been intently fixed on his task. He had started up the locomotive slowly, but now, clearing the depot switches, he pulled the lever a notch or two, watching carefully ahead. As the train rounded a curve to an air line, a series of brave hurrahs along the side of the track sent a thrill of pleasure through Ralph's frame. The young engineer had only a fleeting second or two to bestow on a little group, standing at the rear fence of a yard backing down to the tracks. His mother was there, gaily waving a handkerchief. A neighbor joined in the welcome, and half-a-dozen boys and small children with whom Ralph was a rare favorite made the air ring with enthusiastic cheers. "Friends everywhere, lad," spoke Griscom in a kindly tone, and then, edging nearer to his prime young favorite, he half-whispered: "Keep your eye on this grouch of a Fogg." "Why, you don't mean anything serious, Mr. Griscom?" inquired Ralph, with a quick glance at the fireman. "Yes, I do," proclaimed the old railroader plainly. "He's got it in for you--it's the talk of the yards, and he's in just the right frame of mind to bite off his own nose to spite his face. So long." The locomotive had slowed up for crossing signals, and Griscom got to the ground with a careless sail through the air, waved his hand, and Ralph buckled down to real work on No. 999.