It seemed as if some engineers depended on the wipers to look out for broken spring leaves and hangers, cracked equalizers and eccentric straps, and nearly everything else; but there were some who looked their engines over with the greatest care,
 | An image should appear at this position in the text. To use the entire page scan as a placeholder, edit this page and replace "{{missing image}}" with "{{raw image|McClure's Magazine volume 10.djvu/179}}". Otherwise, if you are able to provide the image then please do so. For guidance, see Wikisource:Image guidelines and Help:Adding images. |  |
"MR. GRINNELL, YOUR ENGINE TRUCK CENTER CASTING IS BROKEN ALL TO PIECES."
and one of these was old Joe Grinnell. He didn't want any help from anybody, and was quite free in saying so, too; but one day I noticed that the male center casting was broken in such a way that but one bolt held it at all, and that very slightly. I supposed, of course, that he had reported it, and expected every minute to see the men come along with the jacks and jack her up to put in a new one; for though there is a king-pin down through both castings, still no man would ever trust to that alone, for she would be apt, in rounding some curve, to shear it off, and, shooting off at a tangent, leave the track.
What was my surprise, then, as the time drew near for her to leave the house, to see that no attempt was made to repair the damage, until at last the hostler took her out across the table. I had been long enough in the roundhouse now to get the hang of things pretty well, so I hunted up Mr. Phelps and told him what I had discovered on the 227.
"Is that so?" said he; "are you sure?"
"Yes, sir," said I; "there's no doubt about it."
We walked rapidly round the house, and came to the hook on which the machinists hang the engineers' work reports after finishing the job and marking them O. K.
He hunted the hook over until he found the 227's report signed, Grinnell, O. K'd., and signed by the man who had done the work. There were several petty jobs reported, but not a word appeared about the center casting.
Mr. Phelps's eyes sparkled with pleasure, as he saw that old Joe had tripped at last.
From where we stood we could see Joe oiling around. No time was to be lost, for we didn't want him to discover it; though, even if he did, it would be too late now to save himself from censure—still we desired to catch him as foul as possible.
Turning to me, Mr. Phelps said, "I'll get the old man out, an' walk him past the engine, an' you be close by, an' just as we get to Joe, you tell him his center castin's broke."
"All right, sir," said I, and away he went post-haste after the master mechanic, while I sauntered out in the direction of the 227.
Directly I saw Mr. Seely and Mr. Phelps coming rapidly in our direction from the office, I got within about ten feet of old Joe, and just as they were passing, called out loud enough for everybody to hear:
"Mr. Grinnell, your engine truck center casting is broken all to pieces, and just about ready to fall off."
Joe's face was like a thunder-cloud as
