On a certain day in a certain year not so long ago a certain train pulled out of a terminal in one of our major cities and headed north. It was traveling what was little better than a spur track. There were few stops along this line to Skeffington junction and just as well. For weeks this part of the country had lain gasping in the clutch of one of the most bitter winters in weather department history. For the record the locomotive was number 711, a cosmic joke considering all the bad luck this train carried with it and was heading in to...