The superintendent's private car was standing near by, but Jones did not notice it in the smoky shed, and the first swipe of his broom sent a flood of cinders over the superintendent, who happened at that moment to be passing.
"Blank, blank you," shouted the official, and, as he looked up, he saw the fireman leap from the top of the tank, and he had to step back to avoid a crush. "Do you know who I am?" asked the official.
"No, and I don't care so long as you've got gray hair."
"I'm the superintendent."
"Well, you, don't you me again," said Jones, and he got back on his engine, and the superintendent, who was himself a high-spirited man, remarked afterwards that he liked that fellow's spunk, and, in fact, he showed in after years that he did like it, for he would have Jones when none of the other division superintendents would.
The last time I saw Jones he told me that he had quit railroading. He had bought, with the money he had saved up, the old farm in
