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The Iron Trail by Rex Ellingwood Beach
page 5 of 448 (01%)
had made him sternly practical and prosaic. Ships aroused no
manner of enthusiasm in him except as means to an end. Railroads
had no glamour of romance in his eyes, for, having built a number
of them, he had outlived all poetic notions regarding the "iron
horse," and once the rails were laid he was apt to lose interest
in them. Nevertheless, he was almost poetic in his own quiet way,
interweaving practical thoughts with fanciful visions, and he
loved his dreams. He was dreaming now as he leaned upon the
bridge rail of the Nebraska, peering into the gloom with watchful
eyes. From somewhere to port came the occasional commands of the
officer on watch, echoed instantly from the inky interior of the
wheelhouse. Up overside rose the whisper of rushing waters; from
underfoot came the rhythmic beat of the engines far below. O'Neil
shook off his mood and began to wonder idly how long it would be
before Captain Johnny would be ready for his "nightcap."

He always traveled with Johnny Brennan when he could manage it,
for the two men were boon companions. O'Neil was wont to live in
Johnny's cabin, or on the bridge, and their nightly libation to
friendship had come to be a matter of some ceremony.

The ship's master soon appeared from the shadows--a short, trim
man with gray hair.

"Come," he cried, "it's waiting for us."

O'Neil followed into Brennan's luxurious, well-lit quarters,
where on a mahogany sideboard was a tray holding decanter,
siphon, and glasses, together with a bottle of ginger ale. The
captain, after he had mixed a beverage for his passenger, opened
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