Bob, however, needed no assistance, and no sooner had the permission been granted than he was climbing into the engine cab.

Before he had succeeded, Hosmer whispered: 

“Barney’s all right—­and he doesn’t like Jenkins.  Tell him about the joke the boys are going to play.”  And then he continued aloud:  “I’ll either come for you, myself, or send some one when we reach Hastings.  Orders give us the right of way to Hastings, Barney.”

“O.K.,” grunted the engineer, as he turned to scrutinize Bob, at the same time standing so that he could glance up the track toward the station to catch the signal to start.

Acting on the conductor’s advice, Bob narrated the plan Tom had devised for having fun at Jenkins’ expense, and was rewarded by seeing the engineer’s face break into a broad grin, and then to hear him roar with laughter.

“That’ll make ‘Old Miser’s’ hair turn gray,” he gasped between laughs.  “He’ll never get over it, never!

“Oh, Ned,” he called to his fireman, who had been out oiling some part of the engine, “the boys are going to put one over on ‘Miser’ Jenkins.”

But before the engineer had an opportunity to tell of the contemplated joke, he caught the signal from the conductor to start.

“Get up on that seat on the left-hand side, and hang on,” warned Barney, and, as Bob obeyed, he pulled open the throttle.

As the iron monster began to move, puffing and smoking at the task of starting the long train, it seemed to the boy that the noise would deafen him.  But he soon forgot it in the absorption of watching the fireman open the doors of the firebox, throw in shovels-full of coals, and then inspect the water and steam gauges.

With the gradual increasing of the speed, the din subsided.  Yet a new discomfort took its place.  So violently did the engine sway, that Bob was obliged to hang on to the window on his side of the cab to keep from bouncing to the floor.

Watching out the corner of his eye, as he scanned the track ahead, the engineer smiled at the boy’s trouble in staying on the seat.

Bob, however, soon adapted himself to the engine’s motion, and was finally able to sit without clutching the window-frame.

Noting this, Barney got down, crossed the cab, and putting his mouth close to the boy’s ear, asked: 

“Like to run the engine awhile?”

“Would I?  I should say so!” returned Bob in delight.

Though his reply was inaudible, the expression on his face was eloquent.

“Then, take hold of my arm, so you won’t get thrown out.  That’s the way.  Steady, now.  Climb on to the seat.  Good.  Now, put your left hand on that lever.  That’s what they call the throttle.  When you pull it toward you, it increases the speed; to slow down, you push it away from you.”

Proud, indeed, did Bob feel as his hand clasped the smooth handle of the lever.  Never had he expected to run a real, snorting locomotive, dragging a long line of cars, and the realization that he was actually controlling the speed, set him a-tingle with delight.