FRANK DISCOVERS A BREAK.
Engine wipers are severe critics of engineers. They know whose engine
is always in first-class order, wedges never down, nuts and bolts in
place and tight, and other things as they should be.
Frank rapidly became familiar with all the outward and visible parts of
a locomotive, for he had plenty of opportunities to see them taken to
pieces by the mechanics, with whom he soon became a favorite, because
of his pleasing manners and readiness to do anything.
Manners have much to do with the success of a young man in the world.
The one who is polite, courteous and willing to make an effort to
please is certain to stand far better show of success than he who is
indifferent, thoughtless and rude.
Many young men are taught self-reliance and aggressiveness, and they
pay too little attention to the forms and conventionalities of life. On
this account they are apt to value too lightly the little courtesies
which mark the man of real politeness.
It is said that but for Washington’s courteous bearing and conciliatory
manners the War of the Revolution might not have been brought to a
successful close. A person entirely familiar with the history of this
country at that period, must appreciate the remarkable tact Washington
used in allaying sectional jealousies. But for his unselfishness and
polished manners he could not have succeeded in reconciling so many
conflicting interests and unharmonious elements.
Napoleon well knew the value of courtesy. No great military commander
was ever more beloved by the officers and men who served under him,
and, while he felt it necessary to observe a certain degree of dignity
in his bearing, he often, however, put himself on a footing of perfect
equality with the common soldiers. He was known to share his rations
with a soldier and to drink from the canteen of a sentinel.
Chesterfield declared that the art of pleasing is, in truth, the art of
rising and distinguishing oneself, and of making a fortune and figure
in the world.
Frank Merriwell lost no opportunity to please those with whom he was
dealing, and, although he had been regarded as something of a dude when
he entered the roundhouse, his associates soon found he was ready and
willing to attempt any and all kinds of work. He never grumbled, and he
was always volunteering to do things.
Thus it was not strange that some of the wipers quickly grew jealous of
him, thinking he was shown too many favors.
Frank’s habitual association with well-bred people had done much for
him. The very air about him was different from that of the other
wipers, no matter if his clothes were as greasy and his hands as dirty.
At the same time he never made it apparent that he felt himself too
good for his work and associates.
The foreman observed this, although he made no sign. He was watching
Frank with astonishment, but scarcely a word of approval did he speak.
He was not ready to express himself.
Although he had familiarized himself with the mysterious properties
of the slide valve, Merry did not attempt to take part in the deeply
erudite discussions which frequently took place among wipers and
firemen. He listened and kept still. All the time he was learning,
feeling sure the time would come when he would be given an opportunity
to display his knowledge to advantage.
To the surprise of everybody, and the disgust of Joe Hicks, Frank was
given time after time No. 33 to clean. Hicks growled and glared at
the youth, but Frank remained polite in his bearing toward the surly
engineer.
To Merry’s surprise, Old Slugs came to him one day, and said:
“I don’t know that I want to see you done up, even if you did give me
a thumping. I don’t hold a grudge, for you done it fair and square. But
I want to tell ye to look out--keep your eyes open all the time.”
“I thank you for the warning, Mr. Hall; but I am afraid I do not
understand what you mean.”
“You’ve got a bad man down on you.”
“Do you mean Mr. Hicks?”
“Just him. Now, I don’t want it known I made any talk, for I’m not
hankering to have Joe Hicks get after me when he is on a rampage, but I
say look out.”
“I shall try to do so; but I see no real reason why Mr. Hicks should
wish to injure me.”
“Mebbe he ain’t got no real reason. When old Joe gets down on a man, he
don’t have to have a reason. All he wants is a good chance to do him,
and he’ll do you, if you ain’t careful.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Well, I heard him say last night that there was a young upstart here
who wouldn’t remain here another week.”
“And you think he meant me?”
“I am sure of it.”
“And he means to do me bodily harm?”
“That’s the way he fixes them he don’t like.”
“All right, Mr. Hall. Thank you again. I shall watch out.”
As Larry Logan had said, old Joe was one who always looked his own
engine over for breaks, never trusting the wipers to discover them.
One day, however, Frank noticed that the center casting on No. 33 was
broken in such a way that but one bolt held it at all, and that very
slightly.
He supposed, of course, that the engineer had reported it, and he
expected every minute to see the men come along with the jacks and jack
her up to put in a new one.
Though there was a king pin down through both castings, it would be
suicidal for a man to trust that alone. In rounding a curve the engine
would be apt to sheer off and shoot off the track at a tangent.
Frank was surprised as the time approached for old 33 to leave the
house and no attempt had been made to repair her. Then he hunted up Mr.
Ganzell and reported what he had discovered.
Ganzell seemed doubtful.
“Come with me,” he said, and together they went round the house to the
hook on which the machinists hung the engineer’s work reports after
jobs were finished.
He looked the report over and found 33’s.
“It’s O. K.’d,” he said. “Not a word about the center casting. You must
be mistaken, Mr. Merriwell.”
“I am sure I am not, sir,” declared Frank.
“Well, I will investigate. Come.”
Away they went to inspect the engine. On the way they came face to face
with Joe Hicks.
“Mr. Hicks,” said the foreman, “Merriwell reports that your truck
center casting is broken.”
Old Joe’s face turned black, and he gave Frank an awful glare.
“It’s a lie!” he growled. “What’s that kid know about an engine! He
makes me sick.”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Hicks,” said Frank, quietly; “I really thought
it better to report my discovery than to let you take the chance of
being killed and wrecking the train by going out with her in such a
condition.”
“Bah! You are trying to play smart, but you’ve made a fool of yourself.”
“Let’s see about it,” said Ganzell.
“My report is O. K.”
“I know it is, for I just looked it up.”
“That’s enough.”
“No! I shall look at your engine.”
“All right. But, if it ain’t so, I want you to take this boy off my
engine and give me a man that knows something. I’ve stood it just as
long as I can!”
Down to the engine they went, and the foreman soon satisfied himself
that Frank had told the truth. Then he was angry.
“What do you mean, Hicks,” he demanded, “by reporting O. K. when your
engine is in such condition?”
Old Joe tried to answer, but he could not do much of anything but swear.
“Such carelessness is astonishing!” exclaimed Ganzell. “You do not
deserve an engine. You are incompetent!”
That made the old man furious, and the look he gave Merriwell was
evidence of the deadly hatred seething in his heart.
“You shall pay for this!” he muttered, in a deadly way.
“No threats, sir!” exclaimed Ganzell. “Merriwell simply did his duty.
We shall not need you for the next week. You may go home!”
So the engineer was laid off because of Frank’s discovery, and it made
him hate Merry more than ever.
“He shall pay for it!” he vowed over and over.