Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 17 Who Blew The Whistle

About two weeks later, on a Sunday afternoon, Qwilleran and Polly drove to Sawdust City and met Arch and Mildred Riker on the railway platform. Well- dressed patrons were arriving from all parts of the county, and curious Sawdusters watched as the strangers' cars were whisked away and parked by young men in red jumpsuits. It was the first valet parking in the history of Mudville. The weather was warm enough for the women to wear sheer summer dresses and cool enough for the men to wear light blazers. The one exception was Whannell MacWhannel1 of Pickax, sweltering in his pleated all- wool kilt and full Scottish regalia.

Surprisingly, the Chicago heiress was there with the waiter from the Old Stone Mill, and Riker said, "Derek must have been getting some good tips lately."

Qwilleran said, "Last week I saw him buying her a hot dog at Lois's. This must be her turn to treat."

Today, as always, she was theatrically dressed - the only woman wearing a hat. The high-crowned straw wound with yards of veiling and accented with a cabbage rose was vintage Edwardian. Furthermore, she was incredibly thin by Moose County standards. Polly, who wore size sixteen, guessed her size to be a four, or even a two.

Also attracting attention was a young woman in a pantsuit: In Moose County the custom was skirts-on-Sunday, but this eye-catching beauty in a well-cut summer pantsuit made all the women in skirts look dowdy. She was with Floyd Trevelyan. He himself was well groomed and properly dressed for the occasion. Was she his wife? His daughter? They were not mingling with the crowd.

Newspaper photographers and a video cameraman added excitement, and a brass band was blaring numbers like "Chattanooga Choo Choo" and "Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight." Riker recognized the trombone player, who worked in the circulation department of the Moose County Something.

Polly said, "I do hope they're not going on the train with us."

Commemorative programs had been handed to the passengers waiting on the platform, and Mildred said, "Can you believe this? They brought the crew out of retirement for this historic run. The engineer is eighty-two; the brake-man is seventy-six; the fireman is sixty-nine- all veterans of SC&L."

Riker said, "I hope I can shovel coal when I'm sixty-nine."

"Dear, you couldn't even shovel snow last winter," his wife said sweetly.

"Do you suppose anyone had the foresight to check the engineer's vision and blood pressure? Has the fireman had an EKG recently? Will there be a doctor on the train?"

"Where's the hog?" Qwilleran asked, exhibiting his knowledge of railroad slang.

There had been no sign of the locomotive, except for puffs of steam rising from behind a warehouse. Then abruptly the music stopped, and the brasses sounded a fanfare. As the chatter on the platform faded away, No.9 came puffing and whistling around a curve. The crowd cheered, and the band struck up "Casey Jones."

Old No.9 was a magnificent piece of machinery, towering above the passengers on the platform. Its noble nose had a giant headlight; the black hulk and brass fittings glistened in the sunlight; the piston rods were marvels of mechanical magic as they stroked the huge driving wheels; even the cowcatcher was impressive. Leaning from the cab and waving at the waiting crowd was an aging engineer with tufts of white hair showing beneath his denim cap. He was beaming with pride.

Mildred, who had an artist's eye, called the locomotive a masterpiece of sensitive beauty and brute strength. "No wonder they called it the Great Iron Horse!"

When the freshly painted coaches came around the bend, her husband said, "They're still the same old moldy, muddy green."

"That's a perfectly acceptable color," Mildred said. "I can mix it on my palette with chrome oxide green and cadmium red deep, with a little burnt umber to muddy it."

Dwight Somers, overhearing the conversation, informed them that the traditional Pullman green was designed to hide mud and soot. "What do you know about the engineer?"

Polly asked. "He was an SC&L hoghead for fifty years. Many times his skill and bravery saved lives, and he only jumped once. He'd tell his fireman to jump, but Ozzie Penn was like the skipper who stays with his ship, braving it out."

"That's comforting to know," Riker said. "I trust they gave him a gold watch when he retired."

Then the conductor swung down the steps of the first car and shouted" All abo-o-oard!"

Qwilleran had reserved a table for four in the center of the dining car, where woodwork gleamed with varnish, tablecloths were blindingly white, and wine glasses sparkled. There was a hubbub of delight as the diners were seated. Then came one of those long, unexplained waits inflicted on train passengers. The wags in the crowd made wild conjectures: "They ran out of coal.... The fireman slipped a disc.... The chef forgot his knives.... They're sending out for more ice cubes."