Stadium High School - Tahoma Yearbook (Tacoma, WA)

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THE TAHOMA ll You done fine, cried the Master Mechanic to Burman two days later. Thank you, returned the driver, but just wait until I run my race,my race! he added. That was all, but it set several tongues wagging. That is all some tongues are meant for--wagging. A For weeks nothing unusual happened. Then one night as they sat in the roundhouso together--wipers, firemen, and a few engineers-some wires, strung high up in the' building for a purpose long since forgotten, began a weird, un- earthly, yet altogether melodious song, sounding as if it had come through a vast void of clarifying space. That, said a young man to whom a delightful recreation made itself apparent in ancient history, that sounds like the Music of the Spheres, if ever such a thing could be. Sonic one asked him curiously what he meant. The Egyptians had a notion that the planets in their flight produced a music too fine for the mortal ear to hear. They imagined that the melody was meant for the gods alone. And this pretty conceit, finished up the dispenser of history, with a flourish, they called the Music of the Spheres. Don't sound pretty to me a bit, growled an old engineer. The last time them wires sang that way Crifhth was killed, and on the same night. Yeah, and on the time before that 'twas the Long Curve wreck. d'you 'member? whined Gilson. They say, whenever those wires gets a-singin' like they is now, that the next engine out'll be wrecked. Some gazed apprehensively at Burman, who still monkeyed with his engine. ' ' Hear that, Flynn? chuckled Macline, who at that time fired for Bur- man. Maybe we'll fly the coop tonight. Yes, I heard, and maybe I willg but you won't, he twitted the fireman. Hear 'im, would you! He, why he's agoin' to rescue me! cackled Macline. Mac was the only one who dared take liberties with Burman. Nevertheless, Burman felt decidedly uneasy, despite his attempt at jocu- larity. Why, he did not exactly know. Something was wrong somewhere. Whether it was in his mind or whether it was the engine he was unable to de- cide. Yet it must be the engine. He sensed, seemingly in every nerve. So long and so carefully had he cared for his machine that he seemed more a part of it than anything else. And he could not decide where the trouble lay. The safety valve sobbed, choking as if trying to tell him something that he could not see. Even the water in the glasses rose and fell apprehensively. It was weird, uncanny. When the limited came in thirty minutes late it added to the high tension in the roundhouse.

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I0 THE TAI-IOMA As a fireman he was a splendid success, as an engineer he was even better. He was never late, never early, always there to the dot. His friends were few, that is, intimates. Of course every man on the line liked him, in a way, but none of them ever succeeded in getting beyond his impenetrable reserve. Ques- tions he answered in a manner almost curt, save when they had to do with the great machine he drove. Once they started him to talking of a locomotive, no one could stop him. He lived for his engine, he loved it. He was forever playing with it, adjusting it. Its brasses shone like the burnished sun, piston rods and connecting rods, all bright steel, flashed like streamers of light from a silvered moon. The master mechanic knew that Burman's engine was the finest on the section, that is why he arranged the North-South Coast race as he did. After Hxing up everything he suddenly remembered that he had not spoken to Burman about it. That worried him constantly up to the time he told the engineer, and even after. Burman was crawling out from between the great drivers when the master mechanic came up. Burman, I want you to run a race. USO? Quite a non-committal reply, peculiarly laden with challenge, nevertheless. We've arranged it so that the North-Limited will run to Smyrna in an attempt to get there before the South-Coast Limited reaches Fir Crossing. You've got to go five miles further: in addition you have to pull the president's car, but you can do it if you want to, Burman. This isn't official, of course, it's discountenanced by the company's rules, but everybody up to the old men on both sides have decided to find out who's best. They'll be having a daredevil driver, and they say the finest engine in America. Burman scowled. His was the finest engine, and he told the Master Me- chanic so. Did you say 'attempt' to beat them? he leered. The Master Mechanic grinned foolishly. No, just beat 'em, and do it good and hard, he explained. As the engine clicked through the frogs that night, every one of the more traveled people aboard experienced a new, hitherto unknown feeling. Something drew them irresistibly back into their seats and held them there. A few miles out a new quality came into the tearing train. It was a sensation much like flying, with only the horrible dizzying curves to bring one back to earth. After an eternity of terror, the passengers realized that the train stood still. The time card told of a five minute stop at Smyrna. By consulting their watches, they learned that they had not five but twenty minutes to stay there. The Master Mechanic figured it out later, finding to his vast consternation ethat Burman had averaged one hundred miles an hour. Possibly you are skeptical: if you are, ask Macline.

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I2 T1-IE. TAI-IOMA A freight engineer shook hands shamefacedly with Burman, at the same time expressing hope that the driver might come back safe. Altogether it was a most uncomfortable departure. Running his engine lightly back, Burman coupled her to the waiting cars.. The conductor gave his signal, the throttle was opened. Gently, so gently that one could scarce discern the movement of the piston rods. A dispatcher ran out to give the driver his orders. Make time, were the only words on the slip. You've got to get to Burley on timeg got to-hear? screamed the dis- 1 patcher, to make his order more forceful. The new president's waiting there.' If you know anything about new presidents, you will realize that it be- hooves every employee whom he comes in contact with to make a good impres- sion. Burman forced his engine slightly. As he came to the Master Mechanic, whom chance had placed near the end of the platform, he leaned out of the cab, yelling: Tonight I run my race. That was all. Gradually the speed increased. The miles Hew by. Shortly after mid- night they made schedule time. Ar a small office out on the prairie the train slowed down enough, in response to the red light, to receive orders. Meet president's special at Redding, 3:05. Burman showed it to Macline. The other nodded in understanding. On they went again. Through it all Burman felt strangely anxious. He remem- bered the talk at the roundhouse. Especially did the history student's words come back to him. That sounds to me like the Music of the Spheres, if ever such a thing could be. Vaguely he wondered if it were possible that the stars, twinkling thousands of miles away, could produce a music, in flight, ca- pable of blending in harmony with one another. The wires of the roundhouse did not appeal to him as embodying the elements of celestial music. More like a huge disk of thinnest steel, slotted and set with reeds of silver, the whole re- volving at a high rate of speed, was his idea. If he might only-his hand slipped from the throttle for a second. Something peculiar occurred. The high steam pressure forced open the valve for a sceond and wedged it there. high steam pressure forced open the valve for a second and wedged it there. down in a heap. The fireman, hearing the racket, caused by the fflying parallel, the rod that connects the drive-wheels, jumped blindly into the maze instead of crawling over the boiler head to get at the throttle. Unluckily for him, he re- ceived a worse blow than Burman, falling backward on top of his chief. It was the engineer who recovered first. Dazed for a while, he did not realize