Dante wasn't happy: ever since he'd come, the 115 hadn't been able to get up to full speed. Instead, he'd been stuck on slow passenger trains. Unable to see how he'd deserved it, he complained bitterly to his driver.

"This railway clearly fails to see my true value," he would grumble. His driver listened and nodded, but one day, March 28th, 1924, which coincidentally also was the day of the first BBC broadcast, Lily decided enough was enough.

"Dante, remember your first day?" she asked. "You skipped Crovan's Gate and ran at really dangerous speeds."

"That's what I do. What's the problem with that?"

"The problem," said Lily sternly, "is you put your passengers' lives at risk. Has it ever occurred to you that people could die if you go that fast?"

"And what about Gordon, huh? Nobody ever complains about him going too fast," Dante pointed out.

"That's different: Gordon takes care when he travels at speed," said Lily. "You, on the other hand, recklessly go over the limits, and rock about violently. It seems like you want to kill someone."

"Pah! You're out of your mind!" scoffed Dante. "Passengers like getting to their destinations quickly. They should give me tips! Hahaha!"

"On time, not fearing for their lives," snorted Lily.

Dante snorted, and shunted his coaches into the platform at Ballaswein. In an attempt to curb his behaviour, the Fat Director had Dante assigned to the Northern Line on stopping services for the year as spring arrived. This did little to help, and instead, Dante would grumble constantly.

"I deserve the Ballaswein-Vicarstown express, not these slow, bulky stopping trains. Even a goods train would be better than this."

Said express was known as the Northern Pullman, which of course consisted of pullmans. Unlike the ones 98462 had trouble with, these had four wheels on each axle, and the Caledonian found they were much less finicky than the 12-wheeled pullmans. Dante was greatly envious of the engines that did get to pull this, mainly consisting of Lily and 98462. Other fast trains were handled by foreign engines allocated to Barrow, who he hated openly.

"You've no right to come onto this island and try to steal my job," he said to a 483 Class.

"Steal? Don't be absurd," scoffed the 483. "I was assigned this train, it would be impossible for me to steal it. If you got a problem with that, take a shower."

And the 483 steamed off, making sure to blow his whistle until Dante was out of earshot. Instead of taking a shower, Dante decided to take action.

As March turned to April, he stopped his complaining, which did cause suspicion amongst the other engines.

"I don't like this. Dante never acts like this," Lily told the others at Tidmouth one night.

"I agree," Petunia said. "If he had recently admitted to being in the wrong, I wouldn't see a problem. But he hasn't, so it's very suspicious."

"Pooh, who cares?" scoffed Gordon. "A lot of fuss over nothing if you ask me."

"I'm not sure," Ian said. "I know something is going to happen. I KNOW IT!"

"Perhaps," suggested Luci, "he's starting to come to terms with how much of a fool he's been, and is unsure of what to say to us."

Henry shared Ian's worries, and rightfully so: Dante's silence wasn't because he was starting to see how wrong he was. In truth, he had found one advantage to the slow trains: it allowed him to observe things he wouldn't be able to see going fast. Using this, he began watching all the yard movements, all the people in Ballaswein Yard, as well as exactly how long it would take for the express to depart, and he began planning to steal it.

On the fifth of April, 98462 arrived with the Northern Pullman in the afternoon as usual. He left the coaches in the platform and went to the sheds to fill up on coal and water. The train waited around three hours for the return to Vicarstown, but it was when it was time to go that a problem was found: when 98462's fireman tried to change the points that had somehow been set against the Caledonian 55, nothing happened!

"Seems these points somehow jammed. We're stranded," said the fireman.

"Oh, botheration!" snorted 98462. "Now the Pullman will be running late!"

Dante, "conveniently", happened to be nearby and in steam.

"May I be of assistance?" he asked innocently. 98462 glared at the 115.

"I suspect you had something to do with this," he snarled.

"No time to argue about that," said the yardmaster. "The train is due to leave in 4 minutes and will be running late if we wait for the points to be fixed and no other engines are nearby. Dante will have to do."

And so it was arranged. Dante buffered up to the Pullmans, slightly too roughly.

"OOH! Careful!" they called.

"Relax! We'll be underway soon, think about the journey everybody will have," said Dante.

Inside, he was thinking about how successfully he'd trolled 98462. Finally, the signal turned to green, and he puffed off, insulting 98462 as he did so.

"Have fun, howling bawbag. Don't drink too much scotch! Send William Wallace my regards! By the way, Scotland is part of England, am I right?"

"GRRR! The nerve of that Baltic!" growled 98462. "Well, consider yourself lucky you didn't say that to Timmy, you overgrown shunter! No, better yet: you…you…" But by the time he thought of a better insult, Dante was out of earshot. 98462 gave a sigh: he'd save it for later. Little did he know, this opportunity would come sooner than he thought.

The Northern Pullman didn't stop at any stations between Ballaswein and Vicarstown, which meant Dante was able to go as fast as he wanted. The coaches didn't approve of his recklessness, and the passengers found their food was acting rather erratically. A chef even dropped a whole steak on the floor, much to his frustration.

Dante's roughness also affected his crew, as the fireman's lunch fell into the fire.

"Take it easy, Dante!" he scolded.

"Don't ruin his fun," scolded the driver.

"You shouldn't be encouraging your engine!" scolded the fireman.

"Pah! He was built for these high speeds," snorted the driver. "I know: I've been bonded with him since he was built"

"Bonded? What're you talking about?" asked the fireman.

"Eh…"

At that moment, a signal went red, which Dante saw.

"Driver, we need to brake! Red signal!" Dante called. The driver applied the brakes, but Dante was going too fast to stop in time. He hit an overhead bridge, turned on his side, and slid for what seemed like miles! Having shut his eyes, Dante opened them when he finally stopped sliding. He lay on his side, the lead coaches piling on top of him.

"Who put that bridge there?!" he demanded.

"It's alway been there," groaned the fireman. "It carries a road over it."

"How did we crash, then?" asked Dante.

"We hit it of course," snorted the fireman. "You're lucky your driver and I jumped clear. And you should be concerned about your passengers: they could be hurt."

And sure enough, many of them were. A lot of them complained about their injuries, as well as the rough riding Dante had been doing.

"You damaged my legs!"

"MY steak was ruined!"

And so on.

To make matters worse, the train caught fire. Nobody was inside, but the coaches could feel the pain. The fire was out quickly, and 98462 brought some workmen to assess the damage. He couldn't help but smirk seeing who the engine involved was.

"Well, well, well, look who we have here," he said. "A fallen Scotchman. Trying to impress William Wallace, were you?"

"Shut up, you scotch bastard!" snarled Dante.

"Someone's snappy, huh? Well, what could I expect from an Englishman?" chuckled 98462. At that moment, the Breakdown Train arrived, hauled by Edward. The Fat Director stepped out of his cab.

"What's the report on the accident?" he asked an inspector.

"This stupid engine was going too fast, and his rocking caused the train to hit the bridge."

The Fat Director turned to Dante.

"Why are you on this train?" he asked sternly.

"I have a suspicion he did something to the points," said 98462.

"MY dear engine, I'd never do such a thing: it's not my fault if points jam," said Dante innocently. The Fat Director was not convinced.

"I know how much you want to take fast trains," he said sternly. "And I also know 98462 takes this train. How do I know you aren't lying to me?"

"How could I have sabotaged the points? My desire notwithstanding, there is no proof against me," said Dante confidently. Still, the Fat Director wasn't convinced, but as it turned out, nobody had seen anybody tamper with the points to make them jam, meaning there were no witnesses to discredit either side. Dante and his driver certainly weren't going to admit to anything. Nonetheless, the Fat Director was pissed with Dante. While he didn't send him away, he gave him a brutal verbal beatdown when he was taken to Vickers for repairs.

"I'm sick and tired of your rough-riding and reckless speed, you great big lumbering idiot!" he scolded. "Every time you do, your passengers are afraid, and today makes it clear especially why: you endanger their lives!"

"Sir, I don't…"

"SILENCE!"

Dante found he couldn't speak.

"Once you are repaired," said the Fat Director sternly, "I shall be giving you a duty that you won't be able to go fast on at all: you will be banking trains at Wellsworth alongside Hurricane, and should I find out you're up to your tricks there…Tidmouth Yard will be your new home. If you want to go fast again, prove you are responsible."

And with that, the Fat Director walked away, shaking his head.

"One of these days, I've got to find a main line tank engine that won't behave so recklessly," he said to himself.

Said opportunity would come sooner than expected, as he received a call from his old friend at the GWR, Sir William Stanier, now Works Manager at Swindon. He offered the Fat Director an Atlantic Tank Engine that was allocated to Pembroke Docks. This would fall through, however. Nobody knows for sure if it was because the engine didn't want to leave or if somebody from the GWR's Board refused to sell the engine. Nonetheless, nothing would come of the sale. Not at first.