Moments there were of some anxiety, when the cars
swung round a curve or dashed through the streets of a town. At such
times there were those among the passengers who would perhaps
gladly have sacrificed a few seconds of the record. Except for those
occasions, however, there was nothing to tell of the extraordinary
speed--nothing unless one stood on the rear platform of the last car
and saw the swirling cloud of dust and leaves and bits of paper, even
of sticks and stones, that were sucked up into the vacuum behind, and
almost shut out the view of the rapidly receding track. It may be
(it certainly will be) that the average of 65.07 miles an hour for a
distance of 510 miles will be beaten before long. It is almost certain
that the same engines on the same road could beat it in another
trial--taking a slightly lighter train, running by daylight and over a
dry rail. It will be long, however, before such another run is made as
that over the last 86 miles by the ten-wheeler, with William Tunkey in
charge. Railway men alone, perhaps, understand the qualities which
are necessary in an engineer to enable him to make such a run; and the
name of Tunkey is one (however unheroic it may sound) which railway
men will remember for many years to come.
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