The conductor jumped out of range, wiped away the water, and regarded them disgustedly. "Well, of all the blame fools!" he said. "It don't take much to amuse some people." "What's the joke?" asked the rear brakeman, coming up at that moment. The elephant saw him, took deadly aim, and fired. The brakeman, with a yell of dismay, clapped his hands to his face. When he had cleared the water from his eyes, he saw four men dancing spasmodically up and down, fairly howling with mirth. The brakeman gazed at them for a moment without comment, then turned on his heel and walked back to the caboose, waving his arms in the air in a very ecstasy of rage. "Look at his eye," gasped the front brakeman, when he could get his breath, and indeed the elephant's right optic, which was the only one visible through the little window, was shining with unholy glee. He was having the time of his life. The trainmen finally calmed down sufficiently to call one of the animal attendants, and an investigation followed. It was found that the elephant had managed to open the shutter which closed the little window by pulling out the catch. He had put his trunk through the window, and after some exploration, had found the opening through which the tank was filled. The cool water within had attracted him, he had drank his fill, had given himself and the other occupants of the car a shower-bath and had then devoted himself to sprinkling the right of way until the water in the tank got too low for him to reach. Then he had retired within his car to meditate; but afterwards, finding the tank full again, had repeated the performance, and doubtless would have kept on doing so all the way to Cincinnati if he had not been discovered. The shutter was closed and nailed shut, and the train finally proceeded on its way. At the next station, the conductor filed a message for headquarters, which the operator dutifully sent in. "Extra west, Engine 1438, delayed twenty minutes by elephant. Stewart." The dispatcher who received the message requested that the word before the signature be repeated. "E-l-e-p-h-a-n-t," repeated the operator. "What do you mean by elephant?" queried the dispatcher. The operator happened to have a little pocket dictionary at hand, for he was not always sure of his spelling. He referred to it now. "Elephant," he answered, "a five-toed proboscian mammal." And what the dispatcher said in reply cannot be repeated here. CHAPTER XXI A CALL FOR AID