க

T was nine o'clock, and the orderly decorum of a wellregulated railway office reigned in Superintendent. Elbert's quarters. The chief clerk's chair was still unoccupied, but the stenographer had been down for half an hour or more, and he had taken up the newspaper after arranging the pile of morning correspondence. The telegraph operator sat at the glasspartitioned table on the opposite side of the room, working off the last of a batch of telegrams, and the rapid clicking of the sounder snipped erratic little notches in the silence. When the message was sent, the operator hung it on the hook with the others and closed his key.

"Is Charlie coming down this morning?" he asked, turning to the stenographer.

"Of course he is," replied the other; "you don't suppose a little thing like a wedding would keep him away from the office, do you?"

"Didn't know but it might, as long as it's his own wedding."

"That doesn't cut any figure with him; he'll be here, and what's more, he'll time himself so as to just get to the church on the minute.'

Roy laughed. "Charlie does stick pretty close to business," he replied, turning back to the table to answer his office call.

For a few minutes his flying pen kept pace with the tapping of the instrument, and then he swung around again with the message in his hand. "Here's a wire from President Mayhugh, Beard," he said; "he wants his car Argyle taken on number seven to-night to Mountain Junction, and an engine to take him special over the new line. He's going to inspect things right, this time, ain't he?

"It looks like it, but then I suppose he can afford to when he doesn't come out here but once a year."

"Pretty tough country, where he's going to-morrow; there isn't a place on the whole two hundred miles where they can get a square meal."

"What of that?-the Argyle's got a cook and a kitchen."

"That's a fact. I tell you what, Beard, that's the way to travel; when I take my wedding trip, it'll be in a private car."

Beard laughed derisively. "Perhaps if you'd time it right the President would take you with him. Just imag ine him asking Charlie!"

The operator seemed to be trying to imagine it, and then he asked: "Why not?-there's plenty of good people in this world that are strangers to one another just because they don't happen to be acquainted."

"There are enough good reasons why he shouldn't; it would be absurd and out of place, and Burwell would be the last man to expect such a thing."

"Think Burwell wouldn't accept the invitation if Mr. Mayhugh gave it?"

"Hardly that he'd almost have to if it came from the President-but he wouldn't enjoy himself much if he did.” "Why not?"

"You never saw Mr. Mayhugh, did you?"

"No."

Well, I have—just once. I think he has dyspepsia, or the gout, or something of that sort. He came in here one morning to ask why an engine wasn't ready to take him out to the shops, and I thought he would bite my head off before I could explain any thing."

"Sort of a man-eater, eh ?—I wish I'd been here," remarked Roy, meditatively.

"You'd ought to be glad you wasn't; you'd lose your job in about a minute if you tried any of your monkey-business on him."

"Think so?-perhaps I would, and then again-" the clicking instrument called him, and before the conversation

could be resumed Burwell came in. He nodded pleasantly to Beard, and, removing his coat and cuffs, sat down to his desk as calmly as if there were nothing of greater importance in life than the immediate reduction of the pile of letters and telegrams handed him by the stenographer.

He was a clean-cut young fellow of the alert type, smooth-shaven and wellgroomed, with a certain air of precise energy about him. While he was rap idly sorting the mail and dictating to Beard, an elderly ranchman entered the office and lounged against the railing which fenced off a small space for the public on the side nearest the door. Burwell broke off in the middle of a letter and turned to the visitor with the abrupt question, Well, what is it?"

"I thort I'd drop up to see what'd been done 'bout that cow you fellers killed for me," replied the farmer, trying to assume an easy attitude by the help of his elbows and the railing. "What name?" asked Burwell, curtly. "Hackthorn Jabez Hackthorn;

thort ye knowed me."

Burwell took a bundle of papers from a pigeonhole and ran hastily over the indorsements.

"Your claim's gone to head-quarters for investigation, Mr. Hackthorn; come in in about a week, and we may have it." "I just thort I'd drop up an' ask," said the man, shifting uneasily from one elbow to the other, and evidently trying to devise some method of getting away without being quite able to compass it. The sight of the water-cooler at the farther end of the railing gave him an inspiration.

"I s'pose this here's drinkin'-water?" he queried, moving toward the tank. "Yes, help yourself," replied Burwell, going back to his dictating.

The ranchman took up the cup and examined the stout brass chain by which it was attached to the tank. "Looks like ye was afeard somebody'd run off with yer tin-cup," he said; and no one venturing a reply, he experimented patiently with the spring faucet while Roy looked on with keen appreciation. When the farmer raised the cup to his lips the operator inserted the point of pen between two bits of copper wire

his

fastened upon the table; a tiny spark snapped across the pen-point, the old man started, spilled the cup of water, and sank back against the railing, gasping.

"Oh, Lordy, Lordy, but I'm sick!" he panted. "Somebody run for a doctor; I'm struck with death, sure as daylight!"

Roy and Beard were both helpless, and Burwell went to the rescue. When he had reassured the victim of the practical joke and sent him away comforted, the chief clerk rebuked Roy sharply. "I don't object so much to your bit of fun," he said, incisively, "but you ought to be ashamed to play tricks on an old man like that. If you've got to do it, take someone who can get back at you.'

Thank you; I'll think about it," Roy said.

The chief clerk worked rapidly that morning, but the hands of the clock pointed to fifteen minutes past eleven when he finished dictating the last letter and took up the President's telegram. He glanced at his watch and called to Roy.

"Fred, slip down and get me a cab, will you? I'm running a little short on time. John, take a letter to the train-despatcher :

You will please arrange to have special Pullman car Argyle, with President Mayhugh and party, now at Ute Springs, taken up by train number 7, this date, and set out at Mountain Junction. Also have an engine at Mountain Junction in readiness to proceed with car Argyle on Grand River Extension, subject to President Mayhugh's wire order."

hugh:

Now, a telegram to President May"Your wire to-day. Have arranged for movement of car Argyle as instructed. Train 7 reaches Mountain Junction at 2 A.M. Is it your desire to proceed at once on the Grand River Extension?"

"When you get the answer to that, take it to the despatcher and tell him to arrange accordingly. I believe that's all," he added, closing his desk as Roy came back. "You can catch me any time this afternoon on 7. So long."

When he was gone, Roy executed a grotesque war-dance before the closed desk.

66

'What's the matter, Fred?" asked Beard, looking up from the typewriter.

"Oh, nothing much-I just thought of something. Give me those messages and I'll send them."

Train Number 7, headed westward, had been made up for half an hour when the gay wedding-party trooped through the waiting-room and gathered in a lively group around the platform of the rear sleeper. The newly minted husband handed the bride up the steps of the Pullman, excusing himself immediately to hurry up to the office for a final word with Beard.

Left to her own devices, the young wife awaited his return, her girlish face lighted by laughing brown eyes, and her trim figure set off by its modest wedding finery, making a winsome picture as she clung to the hand-rails and added her voice to the rippling tide of small- talk rising and falling in disjointed questions and answers, congratulations and hilarious noth

"bride the sun shines on-" -"Charlie 'll get left if he doesn't look out, and then what would you do?"

The bride caught at the flying phrases and tossed back fragmentary replies. "Thank you, ever so much, Archie, the sun does shine good and hot-No, Charlie won't tell me yet where we're going-Yes, I'll drop you a postal, Jessie-What in the world can be keeping Charlie so long?"--and more of like import and less importance. Minnie Gaylord had been the pet of her class in the High School, and the guests were for the most part her classmates and school friends.

In the meanwhile Burwell was giving hurried instructions to Beard. "No, I haven't made up my mind yet whether we'll go beyond Ogden or not-I'm sorry Mr. Elbert had to go to New

York, but you must do the best you can till he gets back-yes, I'll keep you posted so you can reach me. Did you hear from the President?"

"Yes; he wants his car taken up the extension as soon as it reaches Mountain Junction."

"All right, fix it with the despatcher, and for heaven's sake don't fall down

on it; Mr. Mayhugh isn't a patient man.'

A brakeman opened the door and thrust his face into the office. "Time's up, Mr. Burwell," he said.

"All right-be down in a second"— and while he did not make his promise literally good, he did manage to reach the platform in time to swing up to the steps of the rear Pullman as Number 7 rolled out of the station.

Fred Roy stood at the window and watched the train sweep out of the yard; then he sat down at his table, thinking aloud:

"I hope the Argyle carries plenty of dishes, Charlie, my boy, and that you'll have a good appetite for break. fast-though perhaps that's asking too much."

66

What did you say?" asked

Beard.

"I say I hope Burwell 'll have a good appetite for his breakfast to-morrow morning."

"Why shouldn't he?"

"How should I know?" said Roy, absently, taking up the official timetable and following the course of train number 7 down the pages with the end of his pen. Seven gets supper at Grand Butte, doesn't she?" "Um-hm; six o'clock."

66

Business was dull in the superin tendent's office that afternoon, and Roy spent much of his leisure experimenting with the telegraph switch-board on the wall, moving the split brass plugs about like the pieces in a curious game. The long line of telegraph poles which stakes out the pathway of the Colorado and Grand River Railway carries seven wires. Two of these, reserved for the transmission of the railway company's business, connect with every office on the line, as does at least one of the other five, which are used for the commercial business of the telegraph com