The air-conditioned dining car, with its imitation oak walls, is situated in the middle of the Spirit. The diners, seated at the tables, are watching the last of the summer sky dim. The train has reached the outer suburbs of the city and the diners can see the scattered weatherboard houses, the bare, flat yards, the dirt roads and the open paddocks of thistle and long grass. Soon the sky will be black and they will be staring at their own faces in the dining-car windows or in the windows of their compartments.
Throughout this time, while the first-class passengers are being served their meals in the dining car, they are only faintly aware of the gentle, rocking rhythm of the train and the steady clickety-clack of the wheels passing over the welded joints in the track. The ride is so smooth that nobody remarks upon it. The diners might even forget there is a driver at the front of the train. There are no sudden jolts, no bumps. And even when the train pulls into its scheduled stops later in the evening, the slowing of the train will barely be noticed.
And so too for the passengers in the second-class compartments who have either brought their meals with them or are munching on their railway pasties or sipping their railway tea. They watch the changing colour of the passing country, they chew thoughtfully on their tomato and onion sandwiches, and pour their tea from thermos to cup without ever remarking upon the ease of it all. From compartment to compartment, carriage to carriage, the smooth nature of the ride takes place without comment.
Paddy Ryan is leaning back in his seat chewing on a ham and mustard sandwich. The mug of tea beside him is still. The fireman remarks upon a Melbourne-bound goods, still an hour away. Paddy nods. When the time comes they will slow at the lights outside a large country town. This will allow the goods train time to slip into a loop. The Spirit will then continue on its journey and the goods will wait for Paddy to pass, before slipping out the other end of the loop and continuing on its journey through to Melbourne. It is a simple manoeuvre and Paddy thinks no more about it as he takes another bite from his sandwich.
The teaspoon rattles in the mug of tea beside him. Paddy makes the most minute of adjustments to the speed of the train and the spoon stops rattling. A hush falls over the cabin. The light has almost gone from the sky and the twin beams of the engine’s headlights converge at a distant point on the tracks where a small flock of sheep runs from the approaching train to the shelter of a tree in a paddock.