"'Didn't know the old granger was any special friend o' yours, kid. He
wasn't over-civil to you last time I saw him."

"I know it; but I've seen a wreck since then, and it has about scared
the paint off me. I'm not going to guy anyone as long as I steam--not
when they're new to the business an' anxious to learn. And I'm not goin'
to guy the old Mogul either, though I did find him wreathed around with
roastin'-ears. 'T was a little bit of a shote--not a hog--just a shote,
Poney--no bigger'n a lump of anthracite--I saw it--that made all the
mess. Anybody can be ditched, I guess."

"Found that out already, have you? Well, that's a good beginnin'." It
was the Purple Emperor, with his high, tight, plate-glass cab and green
velvet cushion, waiting to be cleaned for his next day's fly.

"Let me make you two gen'lemen acquainted," said Poney. "This is our
Purple Emperor, kid, whom you were admirin' and, I may say, envyin' last
night. This is a new brother, worshipful sir, with most of his mileage
ahead of him, but, so far as a serving-brother can, I'll answer for
him.'

"'Happy to meet you," said the Purple Emperor, with a glance round the
crowded round-house. "I guess there are enough of us here to form a full
meetin'. Ahem! By virtue of the authority vested in me as Head of the
Road, I hereby declare and pronounce No..007 a full and accepted Brother
of the Amalgamated Brotherhood of Locomotives, and as such entitled to
all shop, switch, track, tank, and round-house privileges throughout my
jurisdiction, in the Degree of Superior Flier, it bein' well known and
credibly reported to me that our Brother has covered forty-one miles in
thirty-nine minutes and a half on an errand of mercy to the afflicted.
At a convenient time, I myself will communicate to you the Song and
Signal of this Degree whereby you may be recognised in the darkest
night. Take your stall, newly entered Brother among Locomotives!"

* * * * *

Now, in the darkest night, even as the Purple Emperor said, if you
will stand on the bridge across the freightyard, looking down upon the
four-track way, at 2:30 A. M., neither before nor after, when the White
Moth, that takes the overflow from the Purple Emperor, tears south with
her seven vestibuled cream-white cars, you will hear, as the yard-clock
makes the half-hour, a far-away sound like the bass of a violoncello,
and then, a hundred feet to each word,

"With a michnai--ghignai--shtingal!