“Waiting for the Directors of the road,” answered the conductor. “They’re lunching up at the President’s house. They were due here three minutes ago. This train’s a local, so we’re holding it till--” Conover heard no more but broke again into a run; heading for the engine. “Do you mind gettin’ into trouble?” he panted to the fireman at his side, “I’ll stand by you.” “You’re the boss,” replied the man, laconically, putting on a fresh burst of speed to keep up with his employer. “Good! I’m goin’ to steal that engine. You uncouple her an’ scramble aboard. I’ll ’tend to the crew.” They had reached the locomotive as he spoke. The engineer had left his cab and was stretching his cramped legs on the platform. His fireman lolled from the window, smoking a pipe. Conover, never breaking his stride, swung aboard the cab and threw open the throttle; the same moment his follower yanked loose the old-fashioned coupling pin, disengaged the air brake and gained the tender with a flying leap. The whole transaction was completed before either the engine’s crew knew what was going on. The rightful fireman found himself toppled from the cab straight into the arms of the engineer, who with a yell had sprung aboard. The two, clasped lovingly in each other’s arms, rolled swearing into a roadside mud-puddle;--and the locomotive was off. Conover, at the throttle, laughed aloud in keen delight as he glanced back at the engineless train, the two bedraggled figures and the crowd that came running excitedly along the platform. “This old rattler ain’t a patch on the one we left behind,” he chuckled, “but she seems able to make some speed for all that. Gee, but I’ll have my hands full squarin’ myself with the Pres’dent of this road! I’m li’ble to hear some fine language an’ maybe have a nice little suit to compromise, too. But we’ll get there. It’d a’ held us up half an hour or more, to wait for that measly local to hit a switch. Ever steal an engine before, son?” “No,” said the fireman, “and I’m just wondering how I’ll look in striped clothes.” “_You’ll_ be all right. Take that from me. It means promotion. That’s all. If our trip lasts long enough, you’re li’ble to be Pres’dent of the C. G. & X. at this rate. Say, I wonder when this engine took on water last. Look an’ see.” “All right for the rest of the run,” reported the fireman, on his return. “But suppose they telegraph ahead and have us run into an open switch?” “I thought of that. But they won’t. In the first place, they won’t risk smashin’ a good engine. In the second,--Hell! Ain’t I Caleb Conover?” * * * * *