The Wabbit had put in a few calls and called in a few favours. At the top of Superga, the scene was set for the off. Wabsworth arrived for his official duties as a part time railway inspector. The Locomotive looked spick and span as could be. The Wabbit had fished out some tartan paint he'd been keeping for such an occasion and given him the once over. "I could do with a better refit," complained the loco, "My smoke box door is peeling." Locomotive's complaints were as frequent as telegraph poles on a railway journey. "The yard is at the bottom of the gradient," snapped Lapinette. "Stop arguing. Now are you ready?" shouted the Wabbit. He paused. "Are your brakes on?" "They are," said the locomotive. The Wabbit nodded. Steam was up. He checked the regulator and throttle and fiddled around for effect. He pushed the reverser bar forward and opened the cylinder cocks. He gave two blasts on the whistle for forward. Woo, woo! He released the brakes and opened the throttle. Wabsworth blew his own whistle. Lapinette lifted her emergency police stick that she'd found in her frock. The locomotive started to move. Slow at first than faster. "Oh glorious rails! I'd forgotten what they were like," said the loco. He trundled along the track. Wabsworth hopped into the cab. Then Lapinette. "Ticket please!" yelled Wabsworth. "You got to hand it to
him," quipped the Wabbit. And the last anyone saw was the locomotive heading down the track ...
