-engines and ambulances all going at once.
Noise? Let him mix in a Canal Street jam or back up for a load on a
North River pier!

And as Chieftain recalled these things the contrast of the pasture's
oppressive stillness to the lively roar of the familiar streets came
home to him. Who was taking his place between the poles of Team 47? Had
they put one of those cheeky Clydes in his old stall? He would not care
to lose that stall. It was the best on the second floor. It had a window
in it, and Sundays he could see everything that went on in the street
below. He could even look into the front rooms of the tenements across
the way. There was a little girl over there who interested Chieftain
greatly. She was trying to raise some sort of a flower in a tin can
which she kept on the window-ledge. She often waved her hand at
Chieftain.

Then there was poor Tim Doyle. Good old Tim! Where was another driver
like him? He made you work, Tim did, but he looked out for you all the
time. Always on the watch, was Tim, for galled spots, chafing sores,
hoof-pricks, and things like that. If he could get them he would put on
fresh collar-pads every week. And how carefully he would cover you up
when you were on the forward end of a ferryboat in stormy weather. No
tossing the blanket over your back from Tim. No, sir! It was always
doubled about your neck and chest, just where you most need protection
when you're steaming hot and the wind is raw. How many drivers warmed
the bits on a cold morning or rinsed out your mouth in hot weather? Who,
but Tim could drive a breast team through a----

But just here Chieftain heard a shrill, familiar whistle, and in a
moment, with as much speed as his heavy build allowed, he was making his
way across the field to where a short, stocky man with a broad grin
cleaving his face, was climbing the pasture-fence. It was Tim Doyle
himself.

Tim, it seems, had so bothered the stable-boss with questions about the
farm, its location, distance from the city, and general management, that
at last that autocrat had said: "See here, Doyle, if you want to go up
there just say so and I'll send you as car hostler with the next batch.
I'll give you a note to the farm superintendent. Guess he'll let you
hang around for a week or so."

"I'll go up as hostler," said Tim, "but you just say in that there note
that Tim Doyle pays his own way after he gets there."

In that way it was settled. For some four days Tim appeared to