shone like burnished gold, and its cab was as spick and span and neat as the private office of the division superintendent himself.
No 999 was out for a trial run—a record run, Ralph hoped to make it. One particular car attached to the rear of the long train was the main object of interest. It was a new car to the road, and its blazoned name suggested an importance out of the ordinary—"China & Japan Mail."
This car had just come in over a branch section by a short cut from the north. If No. 999 could beat timetable routine half an hour and deliver the mail to the Overland Express at Bridgeport, two hundred miles distant, on time, it would create a new schedule, and meant a good contract for the Great Northern, besides a saving of three hours' time over the former roundabout trip of the China & Japan Mail.
Ralph had exchanged jolly greetings with his friends up to now. In an instant, however, the sonorous, echoing "All aboard" from the conductor way down the train was a signal for duty, prompt and imperative. The pleasant depot scene faded from the sight and mind of the ambitious young railroader. He turned his strict attention now to the cab interior, as though the locomotive was a thing of life and intelligence.
