ON the steps of the club he was surprised to meet Philip Manson, who, he knew, rarely honoured that institution with his presence.
“I was just going up to see you, Mr. Manson. I want you to do me a favour. I’m off to New York, and I’d like a letter of introduction to Mr. Rockervelt.”
The brow of the division superintendent knitted slightly, and he did not answer so readily as the other expected.
“Well, it’s like this, Steele,” he said at last: “I am merely a small official, and Mr. Rockervelt is an important man who knows his own importance. Etiquette prescribes that I should give you a letter to the general manager, who is the proper person to introduce you to Mr. Rockervelt. So, you see——”
“Oh, very well,” exclaimed Steele, sorry he had asked. This rebuff, following so closely on the heels of his disappointment, clouded his usual good nature. He was about to go on, when Manson detained him, grasping the lapel of his coat.
“Don’t be offended, John; and I’ll tell you something no one else knows. I’m going to quit the railway business.”
“What!” shouted Steele, all his old affection for the man surging up within him as he now noted the trouble in his face. Manson quit the railway business! It was as if he had calmly announced his intention to commit suicide.
“That old fool Blair has been making trouble for you?” he cried.
“Oh, no! That is to say, there always has been a slight tension, and it doesn’t grow better. I’ve made a little money—real estate has risen, you know, and that sort of thing—and I’ve been working hard, so I intend to resign. I take it you have some scheme to propose to Mr. Rockervelt?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Very well. Your scheme, if it is a good one, will prove your best introduction. He’s an accessible man; but plunge right to the point when you meet him. He likes directness. And, by the way, he will be in Warmington on Wednesday morning. The big conference of railway presidents begins Thursday afternoon at Portandit, and he will be there, of course. We attach his private car to Number Three, Wednesday night, and your best time to see him might be in his car during the four miles he’s running to the Junction. The express waits for him at the Junction. You haven’t much time, but it will prove all the time he’ll want to allow you if your project doesn’t appeal to him.”
“Say!” cried Steele, a thrill with the portent of a sudden idea, “couldn’t you persuade Rockervelt to hitch his car to the Burdock ‘Thunderbolt’? I’ll run him through to Portandit, and save him that dreary daylight trip from Tobasco.”
Manson shook his head.
“No; Mr. Rockervelt would not go over any other road than his own. I could not propose such a thing, and Mr. Blair would not.”
Steele walked down to the Grand Union Station deep in thought. He had determined to take Rockervelt’s private car from its place with one of his own pony engines and attach it to his own express, and he was formulating his plans. Once away from the Junction, the Government itself could not stop him. And now we need a railway map to explain the situation. From Warmington to Portandit or to Tobasco is a long night’s ride. The “Thunderbolt” leaves the Junction on the Burdock Route at 8 p.m. The “Pacific Express,” on the Midland, departs at 8.20; one train from the south side of the station, the other from the north.
At ten minutes to eight Philip Manson received a telephone message asking him to remain within call. A short time after, when the men were coupling the private car to the west-bound train, Steele rushed in to the telephone cabin and shouted:
“That you, Mr. Manson?”
“Yes; who are you?”
“Steele. I’ve just coupled Rockervelt’s car to the ‘Thunderbolt.’ Release Number Three, for she will wait in vain. Telegraph all those people that Rockervelt was to meet at Tobasco to-morrow morning to take the midnight train for Portandit and meet him there.”
“Steele, are you out of your senses?”
“No. It’s all as I say. Nothing can stop us.”
“I haven’t the list of the men that——”
“Then call up Blair. He’s in his private car on Number Three, which of course you know. You must get the list.”
“John Steele, I implore you to stop before it is too late. This is an outrage. It’s kidnapping—brigand’s work. You are breaking laws that will——”
“I know, I know. Good night, Mr. Manson.”
“Just one moment, John, I’ve something important to tell you. Mr. Rockervelt telegraphed to me——”
But the young man was proof against all blandishments, determined to go his own way, so he rang off before his friend could finish the sentence.
Steele rushed out to the platform, nodded to the waiting conductor, swung himself on the Pullman car, the conductor swung his lantern, and the “Thunderbolt” swung out into the night.
When the deft and silent negro had cleared away the breakfast dishes next morning and removed the tablecloth, Mr. Rockervelt leaned back in his chair and lit a cigar. There was much to think of, and he was thinking much. The car rolled along with gratifying smoothness, and the great man paid no attention to the scenery, otherwise he might have been startled, for he knew well the environment of his own line. As for the negro, all roads were alike to him, and he attended solely and silently to his master’s comfort. He hovered about for a few moments, then said deferentially:
“Day’s a gennelman, sah, in de sleepah ahead’s been asking for you, sah, two or three times dis mawning, sah. He’d like to have some conversation with you, sah, if you’s disengaged.”
“Who is he?”
“Here’s he’s cawd, sah.”
Mr. Rockervelt glanced at the card, murmuring: “John Steele, General Manager, Burdock Route. That’s strange.” Then aloud: “Show Mr. Steele in, Peter.” The magnate did not rise as John bowed to him, but waved his hand toward a chair, a silent invitation of which his visitor did not avail himself. He recognized the great man at once from the many portraits he had seen of him.
“I hope you have slept well, Mr. Rockervelt,” began the new-comer.
“Excellently.”
“And I trust you found the road-bed in good order.” Mr. Rockervelt raised his eyebrows and looked with some surprise at the polite inquirer before him.
“My own bed and the road-bed left nothing to be desired, since you are so kind as to ask.”
“I am delighted to hear you say so, sir,” cried John with enthusiasm. His host began to fear some demented person had got into his car, and he glanced over his shoulder for Peter, who was not visible.
“Why should you be delighted to hear me praise my own road?” he asked in tones that gave no hint of his uneasiness.
“Well, sir, to tell you the truth, I wished a few minutes’ talk with you, and that’s not as easy come by as you may think. You are not on your own road, but on the Burdock Route, now rapidly approaching Portandit. I took the liberty last night of attaching your car to this train, sir, instead of to your own Number Three.”
Rockervelt sat up in alarm, glanced out of the windows, first on one side, then on the other. Bringing back his gaze to the man before him, hot anger added colour to the usual floridness of his countenance.
“You took the liberty, did you? Well, let me tell you, sir, it is a liberty you will bitterly regret.”
“I am sorry to hear you say that, sir,” replied John humbly.
“The liberty! Curse it, sir! you have disarranged all my plans. There are three men in Tobasco whom it is imperative I should meet this forenoon before the convention opens.”
“Quite so, sir. I had them telegraphed to take the Midnight and meet you at Portandit instead. They’ll be waiting for you when you get in, sir.”
“The devil you did!” gasped Rockervelt, sinking back in his chair.
“You see, sir, it’s an uneasy conference you would have had on that rocky road to Dublin, the T. and P. A long forenoon’s ride, sir, with a line as rough as a rail fence. It would be like coming down the Soo Rapids, only you wouldn’t travel so quickly. You are too good a railroad man, sir, not to hate a day journey, and I counted on that.”
“It’s a minor matter, but you happen to be right.”
“I have a carriage waiting for you, sir. You can drive to your hotel at your ease, hold the conference in your room, and drop in to the convention whenever it pleases you, sir.”
“Have you also arranged my return to New York, Mr. Steele? By what route do you intend to send me back?” John laughed that cheerful, infectious laugh of his. He realised that the danger point was passed.
“I hope you will get safe back to New York whatever route you take, sir.”
“Thank you. How long have you been general manager of this road?”
“About two years, sir.”
“Where did you learn the business?”
“In the greatest railroad school of this world, sir—the Rockervelt System.”
The faint shadow of a smile passed over the face of Mr. Rockervelt for the first time during the interview.
“That I take as a handsome return for my testimonial to your road-bed. Why did you leave us?”
“I failed to please Mr. Blair, sir.”
“In whose department were you?”
“In the division superintendent’s.”
“Did you please Philip Manson?”
“I think I did, sir.”
“Um! Well, now, you did not waylay me for the purposes of pleasant conversation. I don’t like to see good men leave us; and if your object in kidnapping me was to come back to us, I may at once admit I am willing to entertain a proposal.”
“No, sir. That was not my object, although I make bold to say that an offer from Mr. Rockervelt would exact respect from the greatest in the land, and I’m no exception to my betters. What I wanted, sir, was to persuade you to cast your eye over this map. The red line represents sixty-three miles of level country, and——”
“I see; if a railway were built along that red line, your road would have access to New York independent of me. Well, young man, don’t let that red line worry you. I could not allow you to get a charter.”
“You’re quick to see the possibilities, sir.”
“Yes, but here are no probabilities.”
“I’m not so sure of that, sir. Like the other fellow’s fifteen dollars, I’ve got the charter in my inside pocket.”
“Do you mind showing it to me?” asked Rockervelt, unconsciously finishing the line of the song referred to. John handed him the documents, and the great man scrutinised them with the quick care of an expert; then he folded them up again, but did not offer to return them. He gazed out upon the flying landscape for a few moments while Steele stood expectant.
“How did you overcome Blair’s opposition?” he inquired at last.
“There was no opposition.”
The president frowned, and a glint of anger appeared in the cold, calculating eyes.
“I expect Blair to watch the Legislature as well as the railway.”
“He watches neither, sir.”
Rockervelt glanced sharply at the confident young man who thus dared to asperse one of the minor gods of the Rockervelt System.
“Then who looks after the Midland?”
“Philip Manson, and does it quietly and well.”
“Where did you get the money to put this through? A syndicate?”
“No; I didn’t need any money. All I needed was that one of your general managers, should be sound asleep, and time to make personal friends of the members of the House.”
“I see you are prejudiced against Mr. Blair.”
“I am, sir.”
Rockervelt pulled himself together as one who has had enough of badinage and now prepares for business. His impassive face hardened, and the onlooker saw before him the man who had ruthlessly crushed opposition, regardless of consequences.
“Now, young man,” he began, in a voice that cut like a knife, “do you know the value of these documents?”
0047
“Yes, sir; they’re not worth a damn!”
“What!” cried Rockervelt, suddenly sitting bolt upright. “I thought you had kidnapped me to hold me up, as is the genial Western fashion. Don’t you want to sell this charter?”
“No, sir. I offered the charter to the Hon. Duffield Rogers, president of the Burdock, as was my duty, but he said you could beat any combination that might be formed in the long run.”
“Yes, or in the short run. Sensible man, Rogers. Well, sir, you do not expect an exorbitant price for a worthless charter?”
“I want no price at all. The charter is yours. But I’d like to offer you a hint as well as the charter, and the advice is to make Philip Manson manager of the Midland.”
“I see; and what for yourself?”
“Only bear me in mind when you have a vacancy for a well-paid official down east.”
The young man had been standing during this long colloquy, but now Mr. Rockervelt asked him to be seated, and there being a suggestion of command as well as of request in his tone, John Steele, drew up a chair to the table that divided them.
“You have quite definitely made up your mind, I take it, that T. Acton Blair is unfit for the position of general manager of the Manateau Midland,” said the chief with quiet irony.
“Yes, I have,” replied Steele, defiantly, “and so has everybody else who knows him.”
“And yet you admit the Midland is a well-managed road?”
“Certainly, but that is because of Philip Manson.”
“Quite so. ‘The page slew the boar; the peer had the gloire,’ as the old poet said, and the peer, too, has the bigger salary, as a modern writer might remark. You never heard any reason given, I suppose, why Blair holds a better position than Manson?”
“Oh, yes, I did,” cried the impetuous young man, “it is said that Mr. Blair is a relative of your own.”
The expression of displeasure that clouded the face of the railway prince gave instant intimation to Steele that his reply had been tactless.
“I imagine you have a great deal to learn, Mr. Steele, and I predict before you are as old as Mr. Blair you will receive some sharp lessons in diplomacy. You have shown yourself competent to smooth out the roughnesses that formerly characterised the Burdock route, but those same capabilities may not be equal to removing obstacles in your own path of life. The Midland is a well-managed road, and you say the credit belongs to Manson. Very good. I put Manson in his place, and so my purposes are fulfilled. If I made him general manager, as you suggest, he might or might not be a success, yet we are both agreed that he is a success in his present position. Now you, I see by this card, are general manager of the Burdock route. Does the Burdock, therefore, take a high place in the railway system of America?”
“It does not,” candidly admitted John Steele. “Why?”
“Because there is no money behind it.”
“Exactly. My excellent friend, the Honorable Duffield Rogers, has plenty of money, but he knows enough to take care of it. He doesn’t waste any of his wealth in trying to make the Burdock route all that his capable general manager may wish it to be. So you see, Mr. Steele, finance has to be considered as well as good road mending. In that department T. Acton Blair occupies a high position among the railway men of the West. If you ever accumulate a little money, and doubt my statement, venture your cash in a contest where Blair is your opponent, and, I venture to say, you’ll regret it. On the other hand, if you should happen to become a friend of Mr. Blair, and he cared to give you a tip or two in higher finance, you may grow rich in following his lead. In this very matter of the charter there is a possibility that you have entirely underestimated the general manager of the Midland. It is on the cards that he agrees with you and me regarding the worthlessness of the charter.”
“I’ll swear he knew nothing about it,” persisted Steele, knowing as soon as the sentence was uttered that again he had let his tongue run away with his judgment.
“Perhaps he did, and perhaps he didn’t. I strongly suspect he knew all about it, and hoped you would entangle old Rogers into a railway war, in which case I venture to assert, Blair would have crushed both you and your chief. Of course you tried to get Rogers to take up the struggle?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And he very politely, but quite definitely, refused?”
“That also is true.”
“Well, you see, Mr. Steele,” said Rockervelt, with something almost approaching a laugh, “there is more wisdom in grey hairs than most young persons are willing to admit. Would you be surprised if I told you that I have determined to ignore your advice, and so will not remove Mr. Blair from his position?”
“I am not in the least surprised, now that I know your opinion of him.”
“Maybe then I can astonish you by admitting that I intend to remove your friend, Mr. Manson, from the situation he so worthily fills.”
“To place him in a better position, I hope?”
“Oh, yes. I have been in need of him for some time in our New York office. I should have taken him long ago, if I’d had the right man to put in his place. The other day I received Philip Manson’s resignation, and without either accepting or declining it, I telegraphed him to let me know whom he suggested as his substitute. Yesterday I received his reply, and although I have been unable to follow the advice you have tendered me so far, I may accept it regarding the new candidate.”
With this Mr. Rockervelt pressed an electric button, and an alert young man answered his call.
“Meldrum, bring me that last letter of Manson’s about the division superintendency of the Midland.”
The secretary returned a moment later with the document, which he handed to Rockervelt, who tossed it across the table towards Steele. The letter read:
Dear Sir:
In my opinion the best man to appoint as division superintendent of the Manateau Midland is John Steele, at present general manager of the Burdock route. He was formerly employed on the Midland in various capacities, and was promoted entirely through efficiency. Although the position he occupies on the Burdock is nominally higher than that left vacant by my resignation, yet I think Mr. Steele would be content with less honour and more money.
Yours faithfully,
Philip Manson.
As Steele looked up from the reading of this letter Rockervelt said sharply:
“I think you are the man referred to by Manson?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It is rather strange that you should have taken all the trouble to attach my car to your train when I had left word with Manson to get into communication with you, and arrange an interview between you and me at Portandit.”
“I was merely anticipating your wishes, Mr. Rockervelt. It is lucky I rang off Philip Manson last night so abruptly at the telephone, for I imagine this is what he was about to tell me.”
“How much are they giving you on the Burdock route?” asked Rockervelt abruptly.
“Fifteen dollars a week.”
Instead of expressing his surprise at the smallness of the amount, Rockervelt merely said:
“Do you get your money?”
“Oh, I see to that,” replied Steele with a laugh; “I am general manager, you know.”
“What salary do you want to take Philip Manson’s place?”
John Steele cast down his eyes, and meditated in silence for a few moments.
“Would fifty dollars a week be too much?” he asked in a tremor.
“It’s rather a jump,” said Rockervelt calmly, “but I think the organisation can stand it, if it is satisfactory to you.”
“It is more than satisfactory to me,” replied Steele, earnestly. He was to learn later that modesty was its own reward. He could as easily have had double the money, and perhaps more. Multi-millionaire as he was, however, Rockervelt was not the man to throw away needless cash.
“We will take that as settled,” he said, and this ended the interview.
