o a long-fire-boxed ten-wheeler, with a big
lap and a Joy gear, you can put me down for a clinker. Yes, sir; the
baby is a heart-breaker on dress-parade, and the ten-wheeler is a whale
on business, and if they don't jump the track, you watch out for some
express speed that will make the canals sick, see if they don't."

Without giving me time to say a word, he was off again.

"You ought to seen 'em start out, nary a slip, cutting off square as a
die, small one ahead speaking her little piece chipper and fast on
account of her smaller wheels, and the ten-wheeler barking bass, steady
as a clock, with a hundred-and-enough on the gauge, a full throttle, and
half a pipe of sand. You couldn't tell to save you whether the little
one was pulling the big one or the big one shoving the little--never saw
a relief train start out in such shape in my life."

Gunderson was evidently enthusiastic over the marriage of his little
girl.

We talked over old times and the changes, and followed each other up to
date with a great deal of mutual enjoyment, until the porter demanded
the "smokery" for his bunk.

As we started for bed, Gun laid his hand on my shoulder and said:

"John, a good many years ago, you asked me to tell you the story of my
little girl. I refused then for her sake. I'll tell you in the morning."

After a hearty breakfast and a good cigar, Gunderson squared himself for
the story. He shut his eyes for a few minutes, as if to recall
something, and then, speaking as if to himself, he said:

"Well, sir, there wasn't a simmer anywhere, dampers all shut; you
wouldn't'a suspected they was up to the popping point, but the minute
they got their orders, and the con. put up his hand, so, up went--"

"Say," I interrupted, "I thought I was to have the story. I believe you
told me about the wedding, last night. The young couple started out
well."

"Oh, yes, old man, I forgot, the story; well, get on the next pit here,"
motioning to a seat next to him, "and I'll give you the history of an
old, hook-motion, name of Oscar Gunderson, and a trim, Class "G" made of
solid silver, from pilot to draft-gear.

"You think I'm a Swede; well, I ain't, I don't know what I am, but I
guess I come nearer to being a Chinaman than anything else. My father
was a sea-captain, and my mother found me on the China sea--but they
were both Swedes just the same. I had two sisters older than myself, and
in order to better our chances, father moved to N