By this time the men in the car had, one by one, been
shaken awake by the car's terrific pace, and one by one
they tumbled from their berths, quickly raising the
curtains for a look outside.
What they saw was a driving storm and the landscape slipping past
them at a higher speed than they ever had known before. Three of
the men bolted to the front platform.
"What's the matter? Are we running away?" shouted a voice in
Phil's car.
"Go back, fellows, and shut the door. Don't bother me.
I'm making the next town."
The men retired to the car, sat down and looked at each other in
blank amazement.
"Well, did you ever?" gasped Rosie.
"Never," answered the Missing Link, shaking his head helplessly.
"He'll be the death of us yet."
"At least we'll be going some if we stay on this car."
"We _are_ going some. We've been going some ever since the new
Boss took hold of this car. I hope we don't hit anything.
It'll be a year of Sundays for us, if we do."
"A good many years of 'em," muttered Rosie.
"I hear a train whistle!" shouted Billy, leaning toward Phil.
"I heard it," answered the boy calmly, beginning to tug at the
brake wheel.
"Want any help?" asked Conley anxiously.
"No; you can't help me any." Phil had ceased twisting the wheel.
"What's the matter?"
"The wheels are slipping.
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