He was simply a quiet, middle-aged
man, bearded, and with the little wrinkles of habitual geniality and
kindliness spreading from the eyes toward the temple, who stood at his
post always gazing out, through his round window, while, from time to
time, his hands went from here to there over his levers. He seldom
changed either attitude or expression. There surely is no engine-driver
who does not feel the beauty of the business, but the emotion lies deep,
and mainly inarticulate, as it does in the mind of a man who has
experienced a good and beautiful wife for many years. This driver's face
displayed nothing but the cool sanity of a man whose thought was buried
intelligently in his business. If there was any fierce drama in it,
there was no sign upon him. He was so lost in dreams of speed and
signals and steam, that one speculated if the wonder of his tempestuous
charge and its career over England touched him, this impassive rider of
a fiery thing.
It should be a well-known fact that, all over the world, the engine-
driver is the finest type of man that is grown. He is the pick of the
earth. He is altogether more worthy than the soldier, and better than
the men who move on the sea in ships. He is not paid too much; nor do
his glories weight his brow; but for outright performance, carried on
constantly, coolly, and without elation, by a temperate, honest, clear-
minded man, he is the further point.
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