The Iron Horse | Page 6

to go and fetch you."
"Maxwell had no business to sprain his ankle," said John Marrot. "Hows'ever," he added cheerfully, "I've had a rare good holiday, an' the leg's all but right again, so, Molly, let's have an early tea; I'll give it a good rest for another half-hour and then be ready for the 6:30 p.m-ers. Cut off your steam, will you?"
This last observation was made to the baby, and was accompanied by a shake and a toss towards the ceiling which caused him to obey instantly, under the impression, no doubt that the fun was to be renewed. Being, however, consigned to the care of Gertie he again let on the steam and kept it up during the whole time the family were at tea--which meal they enjoyed thoroughly, quite regardless of the storm.
He was asleep when his father rose at last and buttoned his heavy coat up to the chin, while Mrs Marrot stood on tiptoe to arrange more carefully the woollen shawl round his neck.
"Now, don't stand more than you can help on your hurt leg, John."
"Certainly not, duckie," said John, stooping to kiss the upturned face; "I'll sit on the rail as much as I can, like a 'Merican racoon. By the way," he added, turning suddenly to Loo, "you delivered that note from young Mr Tipps to his mother?"
"Yes, immediately after I got it from you; and I waited to see if there was an answer, but she said there wasn't. It must have contained bad news, I fear, for she turned pale while she read it."
"H'm, well," said John, putting on his cap, "don't know nothin' about what was in it, so it's no bizzness o' mine."
With a hearty good-evening to all, and a special embrace to Gertie, the engine-driver left his home, accompanied by Bob his hopeful son.
"Mr Sharp," said Bob, as they walked along, "has bin makin' oncommon partikler inquiries among us about some o' the porters. I raither think they're a bad lot."
"Not at all," replied his father severely. "They're no more a bad lot than the drivers, or, for the matter of that, than the clerks or the directors, or the lamp-boys. You ought to be gittin' old enough by this time, Bob, to know that every lot o' fish in this world, however good, has got a few bad uns among 'em. As a rule railway directors and railway clerks, and railway porters and railway officials of all sorts are good--more or less--the same may be said of banks an' insurances, an' all sorts of things--but, do what ye may, a black sheep or two will git in among 'em, and, of course, the bigger the consarn, the more numerous the black sheep. Even the clergy ain't free from that uniwersal law of natur. But what's Mr Sharp bin inquiring arter?"
"Ah--wot indeed!" replied Bob; "'ow should I know? Mr Sharp ain't the man to go about the line with a ticket on his back tellin' wot he's arter. By no means. P'lice superintendents ain't usually given to that; but he's arter somethin' partickler."
"Well, that ain't no bizzness of ours, Bob, so we don't need to trouble our heads about it. There's nothin' like mindin' yer own bizzness. Same time," added John after a short pause, "that's no reason why, as a sea-farin' friend o' mine used to say, a man shouldn't keep his weather-eye open, d'ye see?"
Bob intimated that he did see, by winking with the eye that chanced to be next his parent; but further converse between father and son was interrupted at a turn in the road, where they were joined by a stout, broad-shouldered young man, whose green velveteen jacket vest, and trousers bespoke him a railway porter.
"Evenin', Sam," said our driver with a friendly nod; "goin' on night dooty, eh?"
"Yes, worse luck," replied Sam, thrusting his powerful hands into his pockets.
"Why so, Sam, you ain't used to mind night dooty?"
"No more I do," said Sam testily, "but my missus is took bad, and there's no one to look after her properly--for that old 'ooman we got ain't to be trusted. 'Tis a hard thing to have to go on night dooty when a higher dooty bids me stay at home."
There was a touch of deep feeling in the tone in which the latter part of Sam Natly's remark was uttered. His young wife, to whom he had been only a year married, had fallen into bad health, and latterly the doctors had given him little encouragement to hope for her recovery.
"Sam," said John Marrot stopping, "I'll go an' send a friend, as I knows of, to look after yer wife."
"A friend?" said Sam; "you can't mean any o' your own family, John, for you haven't got time to go back that length now, and--"
"Well, never