old sullenness settled down over his face, accompanied by a gloomy manner that Ralph could not analyze. He half believed, however, that Fogg was a pretty good fellow at heart, had started out to queer the run, and was now sorry and ashamed that he had betrayed his weakness for drink.
"Maybe he is genuinely sorry for his tantrums," reflected Ralph, "and maybe our narrow escape at the siding has sobered him into common sense."
What the glum and gruff fireman lacked of comradeship, the young passenger made up in jolly good cheer. He was interested in everything going on. He found opportunity to tell Ralph several rattling good stories, full of incident and humor, of his amateur railroad experiences, and the time was whiled away pleasantly for these two acquaintances.
Ralph could not repress a grand, satisfied expression of exultation as No. 999 glided gracefully into the depot at Bridgeport, over forty-seven minutes ahead of time.
The station master and the assistant superintendent of the division came up to the cab instantly, the latter with his watch in his hand.
"Worth waiting for, this, Fairbanks," he called
