Trains going towards the city were apt to be thinly peopled at that time of day; but the empty cars had to be taken along all the same, for the benefit of the crowds who would be coming out later in the afternoon and in the evening.

The railway-company would have made more money with full loads both ways, but it was well they did not have a full load on that precise train.
Ford had turned over the seat in front of him, and stretched himself out with his feet on it.

It was almost like lying down, for a boy of his length; and it was the very best position he could possibly have taken if he had known what was coming.
Known what was coming?
Yes: there was a pig coming.
That was all; but it was quite enough, considering what that pig was about to do.

He was going where he chose, just then; and not only had he chosen to walk upon the railroad-track, but he had also made up his mind not to turn out for that locomotive and its train of cars.
He saw it, of course, for he was looking straight at it; and the engineer saw him, but it would have been well for the pig if he had been discovered a few seconds earlier.
"What a whistle!" exclaimed Ford Foster at that moment.

"It sounds more like the squeal of an iron pig than any thing else.