"
Mr. Kendall seemed not to have heard the parting wish of his son; he
certainly did not return the good-by. And mingled with the feeling of
satisfaction at being intrusted with the care of the great engine was a
sensation of vague uneasiness on account of his father's singular
behavior.
The fireman was there before him, waiting to be let into the
boiler-room, for the engineer always kept the keys.
He was a big, brawny Yorkshire Englishman, with a scar across one cheek,
and, to add to the ugliness of his face, he had only one good eye. Over
the other he always wore a green patch.
"Hi, my lad, is thy feyther sick?" was Joe Cuttle's salutation as Larry
unlocked the door, and they went into the long boiler-room.
"No, sir," was the reply, remembering his father's wish that he say,
nothing about the matter except to the superintendent.
"I'm a little late," he continued, as he glanced at the steam gauges;
"so you will have to put on the draught and get up steam fast as you
can."
"All right, Larry. I was waiting for thee this ten minutes," said
Cuttle.
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