A CHRISTMAS TRAGEDY

Evening Post, Volume CII, Issue 151, 23 December 1921, Page 12

A CHRISTMAS TRAGEDY

THE ENGINE THAT NEVER FOUND ITSELF \ The hour had come to collect the toys and tip-toe into the room on the stocking expedition for which old man Christmas, and not the paternal oheque-book, obtainß _1 the credit. It was a thin"g that Could not be left too late. At any moment the waits might arrive with some stop-press news about King Wenceslas." When I had recovered the lorry from the bottom of my trunk, the clockwork tram from the suit case, the fort from underneath the cistern, and the station and signals from the bottom of the writi ing desk, I remembered something. I I had not tested the clockwork train, and I was, not sure how the fort was constructed.. Supposing about six the next morning' Henry, sitting on my chest, with ice-cold feet on my nose, confronted me with a clockwork train that would not clockwork or a fort that was a mystery I fort entirely? I "It's halt-past eleven," said a feminine ; voice, as I put the base of the fort on one end of the dining table and the railway track on the other. "This is important," said I. llt was. The fort's spare parts were none too easy to assemble, since its archi- | tectural date was about 1236. There was also the drawbridge, which had to be fixed by its hinges. Once you got these on, the drawbridge, in the cutest fashion, could be' raised or lowered according to whether the enemy was "working or having a day off. There was a very neat arrangement also in the south tower for ringing a bell when one smote the moat. 'Tm very glad I looked into this," said I. ■ "It's quarter to twelve," was the feminine reply, If the fort required finishing touches, the railway required thorough overhauling The connections needed the pliers,, and a little hammering of the sleepers was also necessary. "You'll wake them," said the voice.

"Just a minute," said I. When the track was well and truly laid, I turned to the engine. So far from being deficient, it proved full of beans. On the first trial spin by itself, it started off at a solid seven miles an hour, and nearly toro up the permanent way. Unfortunately, however, he refused to associate with the tender. He was a bit on tho small size, but otherwise was quite a nice tender, and I did all I could to bring the two together. But every time the result was the same. At each introduction the engine threw the tender magnificently aside and pitched himself head foremost into the track, swearing fluently. When I got the passenger coach on as well that engine, without more ado, turned round, and bit me. Ho was a very energetic eu'gine altogether.1 I scratched my head. "Quarter past," came a voice from tho stairhead. Good night and a merry Christmas." Good night," I said absently. "Mind you don'ti break it," said the voico. I picked up the engine and examined the spring. It was obviously too strong for its work. Yet how to avoid the disappointment of the morning? An engine on lines that would not take either coal or passengers was obviously an anomaly of the worst type. Father Christmas would never survive it. Then the great idea came to me. With the help of a paper fastener'l put the tender iv front and the passengers behind the engine. Balance was the watchword, and with a couple of twists I started the Christmas morning express, v My cunning triumphed, and the ehgitie set to work at a steady three miles per hour. With a smile I reached for my matches. - f v ■ ' . That moment of inattention was my undoing. When it got my back turned the engine changed gear like lightning. Before I could intervene it had kicked tho tender into the signals, eluded' the embrace of the coach, pitched the rails overboard, and then proceeded tank fashion to ; climb the fort's medieval ramparts. When it got inside it pitched itself and the fort on to the floor after the rails. „..', ; I rushed over-*-too late. The; spring had succumbed to apoplexy, the tender had lost a wheel, and the fort . . . the whole base of that Norman fort had come unstuck. At that moment a solitary wait arrived. I "Christians awake! salute the happy raorp," said he with his cornet. But bazaars unfortunately do not wake on 25th December. —A. G. Thornton, i Daily Chronicle.