CHAPTER XXV.

ON A SWITCH ENGINE.

Two days later Frank was working in the yard when Sam Hobson, a yard engineer, came up behind him and addressed him.

“Is your name Frank Merriwell?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“I want you.”

Frank went over to the grimy-looking man who had spoken to him. Engine 91, used for switching purposes, was ready to go out of the roundhouse.

“Get inter the cab there,” said the man, motioning for Frank to climb up.

Merriwell was amazed, and he hesitated, saying:

“Mr. Ganzell----”

“Don’t you worry about Mr. Ganzell, but do as I told you. He sent me for a man. Get inter the cab.”

Frank hesitated no longer, although he was filled with wonder.

Often when short of firemen the yard engineers would take one of the wipers, but it did not seem possible to Frank that he had been selected for such work.

Merry swung up into the cab, and Hobson leisurely followed. Several wipers stared in astonishment, not one of them regarding it as possible that the boy who had been at work in the roundhouse but a short time had been chosen to fire on 91.

The engineer glanced at the gauge, and then looked to see that everything was in place.

“Ring,” he said, for he had received the signal to go ahead.

Frank pulled the bell-rope, and Hobson opened her up a little and let off the brake. Then 91 ran out of the roundhouse into the yard, and was switched onto a certain track.

“Keep the gauge about where she is now,” said the engineer.

Then Frank knew he had been selected to fire on that engine for the time being, at least. His heart gave a great leap of joy, but he simply and calmly said:

“All right, sir.”

Frank was nervous. It was not the first time he had been on an engine, for he had sought the friendship of the engineers, and had found opportunities to ride about the switches and watch the work, but never yet had he flung a shovel of coal in at a furnace door. He had watched and studied, feeling sure that his time would come, and all his life it had been his way to pick up all the knowledge he could obtain, knowing that almost anything a man learns comes of practical use some time.

Open came the furnace door and Merry gave a glance at the glowing heap within. Then he seized the shovel, and, feeling stronger than ever before in his life, began to fling in the coal, giving each shovelful a dextrous flirt that scattered and distributed it evenly. When he thought he had shoveled enough, he closed the door with a clang.

Hobson said not a word, but just then, having received another signal, he reversed, and 91 started backward along the track. Up to the leather seat went Frank, and he rang the bell as the engine backed along the track.

In a very few minutes 91 was busy pushing and hauling cars about and moving them from one track to another.

For nearly an hour Hobson had nothing to say, and Frank made no talk, for his mind was on the various tasks it was his duty to perform. He seemed to know exactly what to do, and not once did the engineer have to give him directions.

Then came a few minutes of leisure when 91 was not busy. Hobson caught up a black pipe and lighted it. As he was rolling great puffs of blue-white smoke out of his mouth, he shut one eye in a queer way and stared at his companion with the other.

“Humph!” he grunted. “When did you fire before?”

Frank flushed, for there seemed a trace of derision in the voice and manner of the man.

“I never fired before, sir.”

“What!”

“That is true. This is my first attempt.”

“You’re pretty young. Ain’t twenty-one yet?”

“No, sir.”

“How long have you worked wiping?”

“Almost four weeks.”

“No longer than that?”

“No, sir.”

“Humph!” grunted Hobson again, pulling away at the black pipe with an expression of deep satisfaction.

It seemed that the engineer doubted Merry’s statements, which made Frank feel rather resentful.

After a brief silence, Hobson spoke again.

“You’re the chap that thrashed Old Slugs?”

“I had a fight with the man.”

“Ya-as, I heard about it. Everybody was astonished. Said a boy licked him, and he’s a tough nut. How’d you do it?”

“With my fists, sir.”

“Of course, but I don’t understand it. You’re a queer case. I wondered why the old man told me to take you to fire to-day.”

Frank started.

“Then you were told to take me?”

“Ya-as. Ganzell told me to find the youngest wiper in the house and take him. Said his name was Frank Merriwell. I wouldn’t have picked you if it hadn’t been for that.”

Frank’s heart was filled with gratitude, for he realized that Ganzell had given him this opportunity, which would not, in the natural order of things, have come to him in a long time.

Ganzell had seemed to pay very little attention to Merry, but, in truth, he was watching him closely. It did not take him long to discover that the youth was built of the right material, and, although Frank did not know it, the foreman gave him all sorts of opportunities for learning things.

And now, before the first month was up, Frank had been selected to fire on a switch engine!

He knew the position might be simply temporary, and that there was a chance for him to go back wiping engines, but the mere fact that he had been chosen once, if he proved competent, was enough to pave the way to a regular job as fireman.

Hobson started in to find out how much Frank really knew. He asked Merry a hundred questions about the different parts of a locomotive, and about handling one, and, with very few exceptions, the youth answered correctly.

“Well,” said the engineer, “you know as much in certain ways about a locomotive as some men who have been running ’em for years. How you found out so much in a short time is what sticks me.”

“I have been studying a book on locomotive engineering,” explained Frank.

“Oh, that’s it! Well, what you want to study now is an engine, and let your book alone. We’ve got the signal to run out onto the main track. Here, see if you can run her out.”

Then he stepped away and gave up the lever to Frank.