The Daughter of a Magnate

Muffled in wraps Gertrude stood at the front door waiting to leave the

car. It had been set in on the siding, and the engine, uncoupled, had

disappeared, but she could see shifting lights moving near. One, the

bright, green-hooded light, her eyes followed. She watched the furious

snow drive and sting hornet-like at its rays as it rose or swung or

circled from a long arm. Her straining eyes had watched its coming and

going every moment since he left her. When his figure vanished her

breath followed it, and when the green light flickered again her breath

returned.

The men were endeavoring to reset the switch for the main line contact.

Three lights were grouped close about the stand, and after the rod had

been thrown, Glover went down on his knee feeling for the points under

the snow with his hands before he could signal the engine back; one

thing he could not afford, a derail. She saw him rise again and saw,

dimly, both his arms spread upward and outward. She saw the tiny

lantern swing a cautious incantation, and presently, like a monster

apparition, called out of the storm the frosted outlines of the tender

loomed from the darkness. The engine was being brought to where this

dainty girl passenger could step with least exposure from her vestibule

to its cab gangway. With exquisite skill the unwieldy monster, forced

in spite of night and stress to do its master's bidding, was being

placed for its extraordinary guest.

Picking like a trained beast its backward steps, with cautious strength

the throbbing machine, storm-crusted and storm-beaten, hissing its

steady defiance at its enemy, halted, and Gertrude was lighted and

handed across the short path, passed up inside the canvas door by

Glover and helped to the fireman's box.

Out in the storm she heard from the conductor and flagman rough shouts

of good luck. Glover nodded to the engineer, the fireman yelled

good-by, slammed back the furnace door, and a blinding flash of white

heat, for an instant, took Gertrude's senses; when the fireman slammed

the door to they were moving softly, the wind was singing at the

footboard sash, and the injectors were loading the boiler for the work

ahead.

A berth blanket fastened between Gertrude and the side window and a

cushion on the box made her comfortable. Under her feet lay a second

blanket. She had come in with a smile, but the gloom of the cab gave

no light to a smile. Only the gauge faces high above her showed the

flash of the bull's-eyes, and the multitude of sounds overawed her.

On the opposite side she could see the engineer, padded snug in a

blouse, his head bullet-tight under a cap, the long visor hanging

beak-like over his nose. His chin was swathed in a roll of neck-cloth,

and his eyes, whether he hooked the long lever at his side or stretched

both his arms to latch the throttle, she could never see. Then, or

when his hand fell back to the handle of the air, as it always fell,

his profile was silent. If she tried to catch his face he was looking

always, statue-like, ahead.