He can see no reason for her change of spirit. Her wonderful mechanism
is in perfect working order, her groom has arrayed her for a dazzling
passage, her fireman has fed her with the best of fuel, the flames dart
ardently along her brazen veins, she bounds off like a charger, eager
for conquest. Her first spurt over, she falters, sulks.

No coaxing can change her mood. In vain her master bestows greatest care
upon her; with each effort she grows more sullen.

Jockey Playfair's engine was in the sulks on the trip of which we write.
The Silver Swan had never seemed in better temper than at the start.
Delays in making connections, the bad condition of the track at places
on account of the recent heavy rains, with other difficulties, had
caused them to lose time. The engineer, however, had confidently
expected to make up for this before reaching Wood's Hollow, sixty miles
above the Big Y junction.

In the midst of his anxiety his fireman was taken suddenly ill. Then his
engine began to fail him. This last gave him more uneasiness than all
the rest.

"Behind time, with a sulky engine and a sick fireman!" he muttered, to
himself. "I see it coming--something dreadful! Never mind, old Jockey!
You are on your through trip to-night, but stand to your post like a
man."

During the next ten miles nothing was said by the three, and then, as
they stopped long enough at a way-station to take on a solitary
passenger, Jockey merely remarked: