ONE HUNDRED MILES AN HOUR!

The sheriff’s concluding argument at once prevailed. Snyder was so eager to witness his rival’s humiliation and to hear the Superintendent pronounce his sentence of dismissal from the company’s employ, that he would have sacrificed much of his own dignity rather than forego that triumph. As matters now stood he could not see how Rod, even though he should not be convicted of stealing the missing diamonds, could clear himself from the suspicion of having done so.

Neither could poor Rod see how it was to be accomplished. For mile after mile of that long ride back toward New York he sat in silence, puzzling over the situation. In spite of the attempts of the sheriff and Conductor Tobin to cheer him up, he grew more and more despondent at the prospect of having to go through life as one who is suspected. It was even worse than being locked into a prison cell, for he had known that could not last long, while this new trouble seemed interminable.

The lad’s sorrowful reflections were interrupted by an ejaculation from the sheriff who sat beside him. On that gentleman’s knee lay an open watch, at which he had been staring intently and in silence for some time. He had also done some figuring on a pad of paper. Finally he uttered a prolonged “Wh-e-w!”

Both Rod and Conductor Tobin looked at him inquiringly.

“Do you know,” he said, “that we have just covered a mile in forty-two seconds, and that we are travelling at the rate of eighty-five miles an hour?”

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” replied Conductor Tobin, quietly; “I heard Mr. Appleby tell the engineman at the last stop that if better time wasn’t made pretty soon he’d go into the cab himself and show ’em how to do it. The idea of his talking that way to an old driver like Newman. Why, I don’t believe he knows the difference between a throttle and an injector. A pretty figure he’d cut in a cab! Newman didn’t answer him a word, only gave him a queer kind of a look. Now he’s hitting her up for all she’s worth, though, and, judging from appearances, Mr. Appleby wishes he’d held his tongue.”

Snyder certainly was very pale, and was clutching the arms of his seat as though to keep himself from being flung to the floor during the frightful lurchings of the car as it spun around curves.

“But isn’t it middling dangerous to run so fast?” asked the sheriff, as the terrific speed seemed to increase.

“Not so very,” answered the Conductor. “I don’t consider that there is any more danger at a high rate of speed than there is at forty or fifty miles an hour! If we were to strike a man, a cow, a wagon, or even a pile of ties while going at this rate we’d fling the obstacle to one side like a straw and pay no more attention to it. If we were only doing fifteen or twenty miles though, instead of between eighty and ninety, any one of these things would be apt to throw us off the track. I tell you, gentleman, old man Newman is making things hum though! You see he has got number 385, one of the new compound engines. He claims that she can do one hundred miles an hour just as well as not, and that he is the man to get it out of her. He says he can stand it if she can. He made her do a mile in 39¼ seconds on her trial trip, and claims that about a month ago when he was hauling the grease wagon [1] she did 4-1/10 miles in 2½ minutes, which is at the rate of 98.4 miles an hour. [2] His fireman backs him up, and says he held the stop-watch between stations. The paymaster was so nearly scared to death that time that Newman was warned never to try for his hundred-mile record again without special orders. Now I suppose he considers that he has received them and is making the most of his chance.”

“It’s awful!” gasped Snyder, who had drawn near enough to the group to overhear the last of Conductor Tobin’s remarks. “The man must be crazy. Isn’t there some way of making him slow down?”

“Not if he is crazy, as you suggest, sir,” replied Conductor Tobin, with a sly twinkle in his eyes. “It would only make matters worse to interfere with him now, and all we can do is to hope for the best.”

“It’s glorious!” shouted Rod, forgetting all his troubles in the exhilaration of this wild ride. “It’s glorious! And I only hope he’ll make it. Do you really think a hundred miles an hour is within the possibilities, Mr. Tobin?”

“Certainly I do,” answered the Conductor. “It not only can be done, but will be, very soon. I haven’t any doubt but what by the time the Columbian Exposition opens we shall have regular passenger trains running at that rate over some stretches of our best roads, such as the Pennsylvania, the Reading, the New York Central and this one. Moreover, when electricity comes into general use as a motive power I shall expect to travel at a greater speed even than that. Why, they are building an electric road now on an air line between Chicago and St. Louis, on which they expect to make a hundred miles an hour as a regular thing.”

“I hope I shall have a chance to travel on it,” said Rod.

“I have heard of another road,” continued Conductor Tobin, “now being built somewhere in Europe, Austria I believe, over which they propose to run trains at the rate of one hundred and twenty-five miles an hour.”

Here the conversation was interrupted by Snyder Appleby, who, in a frenzy of terror that he could no longer control, shouted “Stop him! Stop him! I order you to stop him at once!”

“All right, sir, I’ll try,” answered Conductor Tobin, with a scornful smile on his face. Just as he lifted his hand to the bell-cord there came a shriek from the locomotive whistle. It was instantly followed by such a powerful application of brakes that the car in which our friends were seated quivered in every joint and seemed as though about to be wrenched in pieces.

As the special finally came to a halt, and its occupants rushed out to discover the cause of its violent stoppage, they found the hissing monster, that had drawn them with such fearful velocity, standing trembling and panting within a few feet of one of the most complete and terrible wrecks any of them had ever seen.