Storm

Out in the storm she heard from the conductor and flagman rough shouts
of good luck. Glover nodded to the engineer, the fireman yelled
good-by, slammed back the furnace door, and a blinding flash of white
heat, for an instant, took Gertrude's senses; when the fireman slammed
the door to they were moving softly, the wind was singing at the
footboard sash, and the injectors were loading the boiler for the work
ahead.

A berth blanket fastened between Gertrude and the side window and a
cushion on the box made her comfortable. Under her feet lay a second
blanket. She had come in with a smile, but the gloom of the cab gave
no light to a smile. Only the gauge faces high above her showed the
flash of the bull's-eyes, and the multitude of sounds overawed her.

On the opposite side she could see the engineer, padded snug in a
blouse, his head bullet-tight under a cap, the long visor hanging
beak-like over his nose. His chin was swathed in a roll of neck-cloth,
and his eyes, whether he hooked the long lever at his side or stretched
both his arms to latch the throttle, she could never see. Then, or
when his hand fell back to the handle of the air, as it always fell,
his profile was silent. If she tried to catch his face he was looking
always, statue-like, ahead.

Standing behind him, Glover, with a hand on a roof-brace, steadied
himself. In spite of the comforts he had arranged for her, Gertrude,
in her corner, felt a lonely sense of being in the way. In her
father's car there was never lacking the waiting deference of trainmen;
in the cab the men did not even see her.