The man leaned out. “God!” he said--He strained his eyes.... “The brakes don’t grip,” he cried fiercely.... “She’s running wild!” The words drove with the flying wind. He drew back, lifting a white face. “Down grade,” he whispered. “Aye--down grade,” said Tomlinson, quietly. “Pile on the coal, Jim!” He flung the throttle wide. A great light broke across his face. “Pile on the coal, Jim!” The engine sprang.--“Stuff her,” he cried. Again the flare and roar to the night--Great flying sparks.... Glory and fierce heat and the mighty power that throbbed to leap its bounds.... Winged thrust--horns and hoofs, and spilling flame.... The old engineer, his hand on the lever, balanced himself to the plunging flight. His small, peering eyes held the track ahead--they laid down the road before the wheels. And somewhere--far within--his soul laughed.... In the hollow of his hand he held him--The man who had scorned him--thrust him out.... “You shall never touch throttle or brake or switch on this road.” The wheels ground out the words. They beat them to powder and flung them--with hitter laugh and roar--upon the night.... He would not trust! And now he lay, like a baby, swung to the sound of wheels. Tomlinson laughed and set his teeth and leaned forward, squaring his shoulders.... His feet gripped the bounding floor. He would carry him safe.... They need not fear Tomlinson... . Back in the car, Simeon Tetlow, absorbed in his map, looked up absently ... his glance on the swaying lamps--“They ’re taking us down pretty fast,” he said. The young man nodded. He was sitting across the table, his head Testing on his hand, his eyes, with their quiet light, fixed on Simeon’s face. He had not stirred since he came in from the platform ten minutes ago. Simeon, working on his map, looked up now and then with a little smile, and the quiet eyes smiled back. But something hungry had crept into them--a look of protection and longing--as if they would shield something helpless. The train, in its heavy swing, lurched a little and Simeon looked up with a scowl that was half a laugh. The pencil had scrawled a curious, zigzag course across the paper. “I don’t seem to be running this road,” he said, “I might as well give up.” He pushed the map from him and looked at his watch--“9:40--Where are ye?” “Just past Dunlop’s crossing,” said John..... At nine-forty, 86 was due at the crossing--the time-table in his pocket told it to him--five minutes off. Someone had blundered and she was in their block--close behind them--pressing upon them.... But the dull face gave no sign. “Twenty minutes,” said Simeon. He stretched his arms with a little yawn--“We ’ll be in by ten--you think!” “I think we shall be in before ten,” said the boy. His voice was very quiet, but the man looked up and saw the light in the eyes. He leaned forward. “What is it, John?” “Nothing, sir--” He said the words slowly. “I was only wishing I could do something for you.”