The Little Gold Miners of the Sierras | Page 6

dozen 'o the biggest bugs
in the city, an' people a-stretchin' their necks out o' j'int to ketch a look
of him. Sech a mealy-faced, weak-lookin' atomy he was! But millions
o' people was a-readin' that very day a big speech he'd made in
Washin'ton, an' he'd saved the country from trouble more 'n once. He
mought 'a' been President ef he had chose to run. That's the good o'
hevin' a tiptop head-piece."
"I've made up my mind!" said Top, Junior, with an air. "I'm goin' to be
a Hero! Like Julius Cæsar an' Alexander an' William Tell an' Captain
John Smith, an' other men I've read about. I wish you would be a Hero,
father! It's ever so much nicer than runnin' an engine. Won't

you--please! You are strong enough and good enough for anything, an'
you know a great deal about things!"
The blue eyes were bright and wistful, his hand stole up to the bushy
whiskers, ginger-colored from exposure to the air and boiler-heat.
"Me, a hero! Haw! haw!" roared the engineer, letting fall his knife and
fork in his merriment. "I'd cut a figger at the head of an army, or
speakin' in Congress, or a-setten' on a gold throne, wouldn't I? No! no!
my man!" sobering down suddenly, into a sort of sad dignity. "Yer
father ain't got the brains nor the eddication for nothin' of that kind! All
he ken do is to live clean an' honest in the sight o' the Lord, an' to run
his ingine 'cordin' to the best o' his lights."
"The Lord's too reasonable to expect more of you'n to do your duty in
the place where's He's put you," said the wife gently.
"I hope he is, Mother! Ef he looked for more--or for any big thing 's fur
as that goes, the chances are He'd be disapp'inted. I hev plenty o' time
fur thinkin' while we're scootin' 'cross the level country an' creepin' up
steep grades, an' I've worked it out to my own satisfaction that
somethin' else I've got to be thankful fur, is that my way in life's been
marked down so plain. 'Seems if I he'd been sot onto rails pretty much's
She is, an' 's long ez I do my level best on that 'ar line, why, it's all I ken
do. That's the hull of it! I ain't no speechifier, you see, Junior"--with an
embarrassed laugh at the boy's evident discontent--"I'll hev to depen' on
you fur to say it--or maybe, write done ship-shape, some o' these
notions o' mine, some day. I'd git better holt o' them myself ef I was to
hear somebody what knowed how to put things go over 'em. Mother!
eddication wouldn't learn no woman how to make better bread'n yourn.
Fact is, there's nothin' ekal to home, an home-vittles an' home-folks!
With such a livin' ez I've took in, I sha'n't need a bite at the Agapolis
deepo. We're half an hour there, but I hate the very smell o' them eatin'
houses! An' please GOD! I'll bring Her in at twelve--sharp!"
He pulled on his overcoat and felt in the pocket for his gloves. "I'm
main proud o' them fellers!" he said, fitting one to a hand half the size
of a leg-of-mutton and not unlike it in shape.

He had said the same thing every time he put them on since Christmas.
They were a holiday gift from the conductors on the line between the
two cities which was his semi-daily beat.
"I take a world o' comfort in them, this freezin' weather. Fact is, Mother,
this world's been pretty full o' comfort, all the way through, for us--a
nice easy grade--ef yer father ain't a Hero, Junior! Six-twenty! I mus'
be off! I like to be there in time to see thet Stokes is on han' an' all right.
Ef you don't min', Mother, we'll hev him to dinner nex' Sunday. I want
to do somethin' t'wards savin' Stokes. 'Specially ez he's on my line!"
At six-fifty, Top, Junior, from his post at the calla-window, saw the
long line of cars, spaced by dots of murkey red, the luminous plume of
smoke trailing, comet-wise, above them, slowly pass over the bridge. It
was a cloudy evening and the marsh-mists swallowed up the blinking
windows as soon as the train gained the other shore. Junior loved his
mother, but his father seemed to take most of the life and cheer out of
the room when he went. Existence stagnated for the boy who had no
mates of his own age.
"I wish he didn't hev to run in bad weather and nights!" he said,
fretfully.
"It's his business, child, an' your father ain't one to dodge his duty."
"I hate the word!" retorted the petted