This opinion having been carried to the judge, it had provoked a sentiment of such tropic warmth on his part, that the colonel rarely crossed the square going from his office to the tavern for so simple a thing as a drink of whisky, without the judge, whose office windows also overlooked the square, starting in instant pursuit. Being favoured as to the distance he had to cover, he was usually able to plant himself squarely in the path of his victim; and the colonel, mild of eye and mein, and lacking in decision of character, invariably proffered the expected invitation. Now the judge held the editor affectionately by the arm; but ventured only such remarks as he felt must fully sustain the other's opinion of his intellectual attainments; but to live up to the flattering opinion the colonel entertained for him, had its difficulties; it was quieting and not conducive to conversation; and while he felt the present was a great occasion, an occasion pregnant with deep significance for the future, he searched his mind, which was pleasantly vacant, for some thought that would be adequate to the moment. A wave of enthusiasm diffused itself over the crowd as the engine's headlight swung out of the cut north of town. “Why, the infernal thing's smoking like a cook stove!” cried Mr. Bartlett at Benson's elbow. Benson turned to the stage driver, “Are you going with us?” he asked. “Me ride on that doggone wheezy contrivance, me risk my life on that blame steaming invention where I'm likely to be set afire any minute? No, sir! You don't catch me!” Benson laughed. “I don't think you need fear that; you'd better come along.” But Mr. Bartlett only shook his head. “And they say the stage is done for, put out of business by that ornery looking concern. I don't believe it, people's got too much sense. I wouldn't like to think my fellers was such damn fools. What time will she make, do you reckon; ten miles an hour?” “Twice that, three times that,” said Benson. Mr. Bartlett shook his head. “That,” said he, “is one of your yarns. It can't be done; a man can't set still and get his breath going at that clip. Blame it! we are coming to pretty times. It will scare the hosses, it will run over cows; damned if it ain't real dangerous! What's to keep it from just scooting off through the fields, from getting clear loose?” He skipped back suddenly in some alarm as the engine rolled past, but when it came to a stop he recovered his courage. “The town's done for,” he mourned. “I'm glad I ain't a property owner; catch me owning a house in a town that's got a railroad! Travel will just be sliding past at a top-notch gait; it ain't going to be like the stage, where all hands stop to take a drink at the tavern and put good money in circulation. Now they'll be piling through in their foolish haste. The big towns 'll suck the blood out of the little towns.”