it looked even finer than it had in my dreams. Mr. Palmer didn’t let on that he was glad until we got out of sight of the Indian, then we had a great reunion. This new engine only burned about half as much wood as the other old freight engine, so there wasn’t much to do but sit up in the seat and ring the bell at road crossings and look at streaks of the finest country in the whole world and watch the grouse and china pheasants fly off of the track. We got along fine and I kept No. 8 looking as good as the Indian had her. Our only trouble was that so many boys knew me in Silverton, that every time we went up the mill switch after a box car of flour, as this was a mixed train, these chums of mine used to climb into the cab. Now there is a certain dignity that engineers and even firemen have that is spoiled if everybody comes piling into the cab, especially if women come with small brats, which they sometimes did. This worried Mr. Palmer a lot and made me fairly ashamed. The worst one to climb in was a friend of mine named Jap Libby. We were about the same age, only he had the most nerve, and the mill switch was so rough we couldn’t run fast
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