The Iron Horse | Page 7

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 mind, I've got time to go where I'm agoin'. You run on to
the shed, Bob, and tell Garvie that I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
The engine-driver turned off abruptly, and, increasing his pace to a
smart walk, soon stood before the door of one of those uncommonly
small neat suburban villas which the irrigating influence of the Grand
National Trunk Railway had caused to spring up like mushrooms
around the noisy, smoky, bustling town of Clatterby--to the
unspeakable advantage of that class of gentlefolk who possess
extremely limited incomes, but who, nevertheless, prefer fresh air to
smoke.
"Is your missus at 'ome?" he inquired of the stout elderly woman who
answered to his modest summons--for although John was wont to
clatter and bang through the greater part of his daily and nightly career,
he was tender of touch and act when out of his usual professional beat.
"Yes; do you wish to see her?"
"I does, my dear. Sorry I 'aven't got a card with me, but if you'll just say
that it's John Marrot, the engine-driver, I dessay that'll do for a free
pass."
The elderly woman went off with a smile, but returned quickly with an
anxious look, and bade the man follow her. He was ushered into a
small and poorly furnished but extremely neat and clean parlour, where
sat a thin little old lady in an easy-chair, looking very pale.

"Ev'nin', ma'am," said John, bowing and looking rougher and bigger
than usual in such a small apartment.
"You--you--don't bring bad news, I hope!--my son Joseph--"
"Oh no, Mrs Tipps, not by no means," said Marrot, hasting to relieve
the timid old lady's feelings, "Mr Joseph is all right--nothing wotiver
wrong with him--nor likely to be, ma'am. Leastwise he wos all right
w'en I seed 'im last."
"And when might that be?" asked the timid old lady with a sigh of
relief as she clasped her hands tightly together.
"W'y, let me see," said John, touching his forehead, "it was yesterday
evenin' w'en I came up with the northern express."
"But many accidents might have happened since yesterday evening,"
said Mrs Tipps, still in an anxious tone.
"That's true, ma'am. All the engines on the Grand Trunk from the
Pentland Firth to the Channel might have bu'sted their bilers since that
time--but it ain't likely," replied John, with a bland smile.
"And--and what was my son doing when you passed him? Did you
speak to him?"
"Speak to him! Bless your heart, ma'am," said John, with another
benignant smile, "I went past Langrye station at sixty mile an hour, so
we hadn't much chance to speak to each other. It would have been as
much as we could have managed, if we'd tried it, to exchange winks."
"Dreadful!" exclaimed Mrs Tipps in a low tone. "Is that the usual rate
of travelling on your railway?"
"Oh dear no, ma'am. It's only my express train as goes at that rate.
Other expresses run between forty and fifty miles, an' or'nary trains
average about thirty miles an hour--goods, they go at about twenty,
more or less; but they varies a good deal. The train I drives is about the

fastest in the kingdom, w'ich is pretty much the same as sayin' it's the
fastest in the world, ma'am. Sometimes I'm obleeged to go as high as
nigh seventy miles an hour to make up time."
"The fastest mail-coaches in my young days," said Mrs Tipps, "used to
go at the rate of ten miles an hour, I believe."
"Pretty much so," said John. "They did manage a mile or two more, I'm
told, but that was their average of crawlin' with full steam on."
"And you sometimes drive at sixty or seventy miles an hour?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"With people in the carriages?"
"Cer'nly, ma'am."
"How I wish that I had lived a hundred years ago!" sighed poor Mrs
Tipps.
"You'd have bin a pretty old girl by this time if you had," thought the
engine-driver, but he was too polite to give utterance to the thought.
"And what was my son doing when you passed him at that frightful
speed-- you could see him, I suppose?"
"Oh yes, ma'am, I could see him well enough. He was talkin' an'
laughin', as far as I could make