at sort of pleasant look in their faces, too. Once I was
waiting on a siding, and a man came up and spoke to me very polite, and
wanted to know if I'd please give him a drink of water. I told him the
water in my tank was too warm to drink, but I let him have my cup and
showed him where there was a spring right near. He thanked me and walked
over to it, and I watched him bend down and take two good drinks, then
he brought the cup back and thanked me again.

[Illustration: "DRAWN BY THE IDEA OF ITS GOING SO BLAMED FAST AND BEING
SO STRONG."]

"'Any train along here soon?' he asked.

"'Which way?' said I.

"'Don't matter which way,' said he.

"'There's an up train due now,' said I; 'she's the one I'm waiting for.'

"'Is she a fast train?' he asked.

"'Fair,' said I; ''bout fifty an hour along here.'

"'That's good,' said he, and I wondered what he meant. He seemed like a
nice man.

"Pretty soon along came the up train, and I saw him run down the track
to meet her. Then he stopped, faced sideways, and let himself fall
square across the rails. Say, I was mighty glad I'd fixed it so he had
that drink of water. That was his last drink."

"Queer how they like to be hit by a fast express," reflected Lewis,
"when a slow freight would do just as well. Now, that man at West Haven,
the one who took it kneeling down, he'd waited around the tracks all
day--the section-gang saw him--and he wasn't doing a thing but picking
out a train fast enough for him. He'd stand ready for one, but when
she'd turn out to be an accommodation or something slow he'd step away.
Didn't propose to shake hands with anything under fifty an hour. Mine
was the first one suited him."

"Do you ever think of their faces?" I asked; "ever see them at
night--the way they looked when you struck them!"

"No," said Bronson; "can't say I ever do."

Neither did Lewis. And I judge that engine-drivers are not deeply
affected by these sad occurrences. Which is fortunate, for few escape
them. Indeed, in going about from engine to engine I found the following
dialogue repeated over and over again:

"Ever in a collision?"

"No, sir."

"Ever go off the track?"

"No, sir."

"Ever kill anybody?"

"Oh, yes. Why, only last week I struck a--" Then would follow a story of
sudden death. And they all spoke in a kindly but matter-of-fact way, as
if these swift executions were part of their business. And I have it
from a veteran that any engine-driver would soon