"And when might that be?" asked the timid old lady with a sigh of relief
as she clasped her hands tightly together.

"W'y, let me see," said John, touching his forehead, "it was yesterday
evenin' w'en I came up with the northern express."

"But many accidents might have happened since yesterday evening," said
Mrs Tipps, still in an anxious tone.

"That's true, ma'am. All the engines on the Grand Trunk from the
Pentland Firth to the Channel might have bu'sted their bilers since that
time--but it ain't likely," replied John, with a bland smile.

"And--and what was my son doing when you passed him? Did you speak to
him?"

"Speak to him! Bless your heart, ma'am," said John, with another
benignant smile, "I went past Langrye station at sixty mile an hour, so
we hadn't much chance to speak to each other. It would have been as
much as we could have managed, if we'd tried it, to exchange winks."

"Dreadful!" exclaimed Mrs Tipps in a low tone. "Is that the usual rate
of travelling on your railway?"

"Oh dear no, ma'am. It's only _my_ express train as goes at that rate.
Other expresses run between forty and fifty miles, an' or'nary trains
average about thirty miles an hour--goods, they go at about twenty, more
or less; but they varies a good deal. The train I drives is about the
fastest in the kingdom, w'ich is pretty much the same as sayin' it's the
fastest in the world, ma'am. Sometimes I'm obleeged to go as high as
nigh seventy miles an hour to make up time."

"The fastest mail-coaches in _my_ young days," said Mrs Tipps, "used to
go at the rate of ten miles an hour, I believe."

"Pretty much so," said John. "They did manage a mile or two more, I'm
told, but that was their average of crawlin' with full steam on."

"And _you_ sometimes drive at sixty or seventy miles an hour?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"With people in the carriages?"

"Cer'nly, ma'am."

"How I _wish_ that I had lived a hundred years ago!" sighed poor Mrs
Tipps.

"You'd have bin a pretty old girl by this time if you had," thought the
engine-driver, but he was too polite to give utterance to the thought.

"And what was my son doing when you passed him at that frightful speed--
you could _see_ him, I suppose?"

"Oh yes, ma'am, I could see him well enough. He was talkin' an'
laughin', as far as I could make out, with an uncommon pretty girl."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Mrs Tipps, flushing slightly--for she was extremely
sensitive,--and evidently mu