"I tell you everything is wrong to-night. If Jim were here--Hilloa!
there's Jack Ingleside's boy, as true as I live! We're in luck. Hi,
Rock! aren't you lost?"

At the sound of the engineer's voice, our hero, who was following
leisurely the crowd to one of the cars, looked in that direction to see
the soot-begrimed countenance of his old friend.

"Lost, Jockey? Never where you are," replied the youth.

"Going up? Jump in here, then. It won't be like riding in a parlor-car,
but it will suit you just as well, I'm thinking."

Rock showed his willingness by springing quickly into the cab.

Railroad companies have a rule forbidding persons to ride with the
engineer without permission from the president or superintendent, though
at the time we write this matter was not as rigidly looked after as now.

Rock, however, who had passed nearly all his young life on the
foot-board, would have been deemed an exception to any rule. At least,
so thought Jockey Playfair, the veteran "knight of the lever" on the Pen
Yan mail and accommodation.

But Jockey's usual good-humor had been relegated to the background on
that evening, as Rock soon saw.

The signal to start was given, and with a full head of steam on, the old
engine, trembling and groaning from her pent-up power, began to creep