The morning of June 15th, Thomas puffed sadly into Tidmouth. James was also there.

"You know, Thomas," he said, "it must be hard for you to keep wasps away from your branch line. Perhaps you should let me run it for a few days." Thomas didn't answer, so James continued. "I happen to be an expert at getting rid of pests like wasps. They're only insects after all. All you gotta do is blow smoke and they buzz away, simple as pie!"

Thomas still didn't answer, worrying James. Just a bit, but still worried.

"Hey…something wrong? You aren't usually this quiet."

"They're leaving. They'll come back in a month, but..I can't handle being without them!"

"Who's leaving?" asked James. "Edward? The Fat Director!"

"No! My family!"" Thomas snapped.

James began laughing.

"Your family? Who are you talking about?"

At that moment, a compartment opened on Annie, and out climbed Conan, Jewelie, Stuart, and a small dog. James took a look at them, then back to Thomas.

"This is your so-called family?" James asked.

"Yes," Thomas snarled. "Got a problem?"

"Well, I fail to see how humans can be biologically related to engines," James responded. "Yes, we were built by people, but they don't count as family."

Thomas was too sad to be mad, as he said his goodbyes to Conan and Jewelie.

"You'll be home soon, right? The branch line won't be the same without you!"

"By the 10th or 15th of July, Thomas," Conan promised. "I'm sure you'll be fine without us."

"I hope so…" Thomas was clearly very sad. "Can I go with you?"

"Sorry Thomas," said Conan, "I'm afraid you're needed here. Don't worry, my friend. We'll be back before you know and your other drivers will treat you well."

Thomas wasn't really sure, but at that moment, Gordon entered the station and backed onto some coaches. That was the train they would be boarding. Conan and Jewelie said their goodbyes and boarded the Wild Nor Wester.

"Peep, peep!" whistled Thomas, sadly. He stayed still, even as his guard blew his whistle, until the other train was out of sight.

"Where are they going?" asked James. Thomas said nothing: it was the Fat Director who answered.

"The British Empire Exhibition in Wembley Park, London," he told the Red Engine.

"At least they're not going to India, like Jewelie wanted…" Thomas muttered.

"How come you didn't go?" James asked the Fat Director.

"Lord Harwick and I are much too busy to attend," the Fat Director answered. "Conan and Jewelie offered to go on our behalf. There are railway exhibits there, such as one of Gordon's brothers: 4472, now named Flying Scotsman."

"Huh, I can't wait to tell Gordon about this," said James.

The Red Engine would find that night, however, that Gordon was NOT in fact eager to hear about it.

"It should've been me who attended alongside him!" Gordon snapped. "I was his predecessor! Why did a stupid 4-6-0 get invited instead?!"

"Maybe because you aren't the newest thing," James replied.

Gordon slowly turned to see him.

"What. Did. You. Say?"

"I said you aren't the newest thing," James replied. "You said it yourself: you were his predecessor. Means you're too old for modern railways."

"I was built four years ago!" Gordon snapped. "I'm not too old!"

"And yet," James went on, "you weren't invited to an important exhibition. They clearly see you as being too old."

"More like the LNER couldn't exhibit him," said Emily. "Remember: they don't own Gordon anymore."

"Why couldn't the Fat Director send me there, then?!"

"Because our railway is much too busy to spare any of you," the Fat Director answered, walking into the sheds. "As I told James, Lord Harwick and I are much too busy, and so is this railway."

Gordon wasn't pleased.

"I could get another engine," said the Fat Director knowingly, "but where would my railway be without you? Nobody else can pull the Wild Nor Wester like you can."

"I'm sure I could," snorted James. "I managed to rid Tidmouth of wasps after all."

"Well, I see somebody's jealous," said Gordon. "What should I expect of someone rebuilt to be less top heavy? Didn't work so well for you."

"It wasn't a failure, the results just weren't what Hughes expected!" James snapped.

"That will do," said the Fat Director. "Arguing won't solve anything. I need all of you to focus: this hot weather can make things dangerous. So please, stop arguing and take care: the heat has already damaged some sections of the line."

The Fat Director was right: it was indeed very hot that summer. So hot tracks were starting to bend out of shape. When this happened, engines had to slow down to avoid derailing. Workmen did their best to mend the line, but it was a grueling task. Gordon didn't see a point to this and grumbled dreadfully.

"It's shameful, it's shameful," he huffed. "I'm too important to be slowed down by bent rails."

Dante began to agree, but then, remembering his accident, he decided to say nothing. James, on the other hand, didn't keep his mouth shut.

"Of course you need to go slow: you're much too fat. Not like me: I'm light as a feather," he boasted.

Gordon was furious!

"What right have you to call me fat?!" he scolded.

"Isn't it obvious? You're bigger and stronger than all of us," snorted James. "Even Henry isn't as heavy as you."

"I seem to remember you derailed on your first day here," said Gordon.

"I told you before that was because of the trucks!" snapped James. "But that's all changed: I'm a splendid red engine, and I never come off the rails now."

"You best take care, James," warned Gordon.

"I'll take care when you quit bothering me about my weight."

And with that, James steamed away.

Gordon ran into trouble at Wellsworth: a set of points jammed, trapping him in the platform when he got there. He had no choice but to stop.

"Bother!" he huffed. "Now how will I get to Barrow?!"

"You won't," said the stationmaster. "Buses have been called to take the passengers onto Crovan's Gate. You'll have to stay here until we mend the points."

Gordon was aghast!

"Buses?! Never! I won't abandon my passengers to the roads!" he protested.

"What choice do we have? The points trapping you lead into the branch line platform. And before you suggest using the down line, Henry has already been signalled through."

"I'll force my way through those points!" Gordon shouted, but his driver kept his brakes held firm.

"You do that, we'll all be in trouble," he said sternly. "We're waiting here, nothing more."

Gordon had no choice but to admit defeat. It took a long time for the points to be fixed, and Gordon began to feel bored. He fell asleep, not knowing what else to do.

When Gordon eventually awoke, the points were finally fixed. James rolled alongside.

"Taking a rest in the morning sun, are you?" he teased. "I'd say you're starting to get lazy. Take my advice: head down to Arlesburgh, I heard they have nice beaches. Much better for sunbathing than in a station where you block the line."

"James, shut up!" Gordon snapped. "I'm in no mood for your lip! Be off!"

"Oh, but I can't," smirked James. "I was asked to return your empty coaches to Tidmouth."

"You?!" spluttered Gordon. "You can't pull coaches: you'll just need to use bootlaces again."

"At least I don't get stuck on hills like you!" snapped James. "You're so fat you'd crush the incline!"

"Cool it!" snapped the stationmaster. "Gordon, you're to go onto a siding in Wellsworth Yard, and will stay there until we can find a slot to fit you into. James, turn around and take these coaches away."

"I won't let James touch my express coaches!" Gordon snapped. "My teaks are much too precious to be handled by a red goods engine."

"I'm not a goods engine, I'm mixed traffic!" James snapped back.

"Could've fooled me," snorted Gordon. "You bump everything…"

"Not anymore!" James interrupted. "And honestly, you shouldn't be treating me like this: without me, you'd still be stopping at a crowded Knapford Junction. I handled those wasps easily. In fact, I handle everything easily. The Fat Director says so."

Gordon refused to move from his spot, no matter what his crew did.

"Come on, Gordon, stop being selfish," said his driver.

"Selfish?! How is worrying about my coaches selfish?!" Gordon snapped.

"They're empty, they're just coaches," his driver replied. The driver began to regret this, for Gordon was now furious.

"My teaks are NOT JUST COACHES!" Gordon shouted. "They're special! I'm the only engine who can touch them, nobody else can! And if I hear one more word from you about my teaks not being special, I swear to Gresley I'll bump you off…" A bump from behind interrupted the A0: while he and his driver were arguing, James had turned around and buffered up to the brake coach. He then felt horrified as the fireman uncoupled his tender. "Wha…WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" he shouted.

"Uncoupling you," said the fireman. "You won't move from this spot, so we're uncoupling you here."

Gordon spluttered, but there was nothing he could do. James steamed off, crossing over onto the down line.

"I'll take them, thank you very much!" he called as he left. Gordon just glared back, furious.

"Come on, Gordon," said his driver. "Let's get you onto that siding." Reluctantly, Gordon did as he was told.

James was starting to enjoy himself. To him, this was the closest he would ever get to pulling an express train, and he was enjoying himself.

"Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!" he puffed. "Express coming through!"

The coaches couldn't help but giggle at his Gordon impersonation. James had indeed learned his lesson: he went fast, but not too fast.

"I don't know why Gordon is so protective of you," he said to the teaks. "You deserve a special mixed-traffic red engine like me, not some wannabe experiment. I can handle anything, expresses included."

As James approached the field, he thought he felt something odd under his wheels: it seemed the rails were starting to disappear from underneath him.

"Driver," he called, "I think the…WHOA!"

Without warning, James came off! Luckily, he wasn't going too fast, and the driver easily braked him to a stop, but he still came off the line. When he stopped moving, the crew got down and inspected the rails. They soon found the problem: the hot sun had buckled and bent the rails out of shape. They were now too wide for James to roll over.

"Well that explains a lot," said the driver. "This heat is hot enough to bend anything! Nevermind, James, you weren't to blame. All the same, we'll need to call for help."

Gordon soon arrived with the Breakdown Train. He was grumbling as he came to the site, but when he saw the position James was in, he couldn't help but laugh.

"Is this what you call handling anything? Decided to take a vacation?" he teased. "That's a good engine, but take my advice: head on over to Arlesburgh, their beaches are much nicer than a boring, green field full of nothing but cows."

"Shut…up," snarled James.

"I'd rather not," laughed Gordon. "I'd have thought an engine who can make wasps go away would be able to handle bent rails. Some special mixed traffic engine you are!"

Gordon continued to laugh, while James seethed in fury. The Fat Director had arrived to oversee the recovery.

"Alright, Gordon, that's enough," he said. "This could've happened to any engine, even you."

"But it didn't: it happened to James!" Gordon cackled, and he resumed laughing. The Fat Director face-palmed.

"You can't really speak. You've killed people, after all," his driver countered. Gordon stopped laughing then!

"For crying out loud, that was an accident and you know it!" he snapped. As Gordon and his driver continued to argue, the Fat Director walked up to James.

"I don't know what Gordon's problem is," he admitted, "but you're lucky you had no passengers. At least you were going slow. And from the looks of things, you aren't too badly damaged. Once you're back on the rails, return to Wellsworth for an inspection."

"Yes sir," said James, pleased to not be in trouble.

But that night in the sheds, Gordon continued his teasing.

"I say Henry, who's that?" he asked.

"That's James, didn't you know?"

"It looks like James," said Gordon, "but James is able to do anything, you'd never see him get into trouble again!"

The two big engines laughed. James tried to retort, but Gordon and Henry didn't seem to hear him. Luckily, Lily came to his defence.

"James couldn't help it!" she snapped. "You heard the official report, it was the sun! Like the Fat Director said, it could happen to any engine! Now stow it, leave him alone!"

Henry tried to say something, but it was clear he'd brought his own misfortune on himself, so he pointedly shut up the rest of the night. He didn't really have a choice anyway: he had started coughing the moment he tried to retort.

"Pay them no mind," Lily said to James. "Someday, you'll show them how much better you are than they ever could be."

"Uh, thanks, Lily," James said, taken aback by her defending him. All the same, he refused to sleep near Gordon and Henry, so he steamed out of the engine shed and went to the station.

"Gordon and Henry giving you trouble?" asked the Fat Director: he had just left his office when he saw James in the first platform.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"Well," said the Fat Director, "let's just say I have my ways. Go ahead, spend the night here: I will admit, it is a rather lovely evening. I think I'll stay here with you for a while."

"Thank you, sir," said James with a smile. No more was said: James and the Fat Director just stood in the station, looking up at the stars through the glass roof.

(Author's Note: Based on an incident that happened on the Lancashire and Yorkshire. A passenger train was derailed on the Charlestown Curve when the track spread under it on 21 June 1912. Four people were killed and twelve were injured. Learn about it here: /items/show/6392)