There is something about the duties and ambitions of a railroad superintendent that make him wish to appear inscrutable. The reason, perhaps, is the man behind him who wants his job, or the man ahead whose job he wants—or both. Anyhow, an attempt at inscrutability is the typical refuge for the ignorant and the smaller the road the more futile the attempt. Though I established my identity and purpose beyond a doubt, he at first refused to allow me passage to New Orleans in his car. He seemed to be suspicious of me, perhaps that I intended to burglarize the safe, make off before his eyes with a locomotive or some of the numerous scrap iron along the right-of-way. However, he finally became rational and reversed himself.

His car was divided about the center, one end being private to himself and his clerk. The other part was sort of a reception room, the "anxious" seat for subordinates. In this apartment they had placed the safe.

After we left Quarrytown, his undersized clerk emerged from the private quarters and requested Hiram to open the safe, which he did promptly and with a firm hand. The clerk took the contents to the superintendent. Meanwhile Gus wore a very red face and sighed repeatedly, as though already on the way to the penitentiary instead of New Orleans.

After examination of Hiram's records Gus was called in before the Superintendent and given the third degree. When he came out he was muchly upset and perspiring. Hiram, disgusted, looked upon him with contempt, which feeling was intensified when the flabby Gus dropped into a chair and glared back at him ominously. It may have been because of the high speed of the light engine and the solitary car, but I surely saw Gus's knees knock together from sheer fright. He had likely overstated his alibi in an abandoned and frantic attempt to protect himself to Hiram's disadvantage.

When the superintendent's clerk finally came to the door and beckoned Hiram, the latter's attitude pleased me. Neither defiant nor disrespectful, he walked into the presence of his superior, and when he emerged from the interview he had not changed a hair.

Presently the little clerk stuck his head out of the dividing door and beckoned to me in the same curt manner he had signaled the two men who were under suspicion. I had no notion of being placed in the same category and made it clear to the clerk that such was the case. At once he became civil and led the way.

When I entered his sanctum the superintendent sat facing me at the flat top desk in the corner of the car. He was a short, stocky man, and evidenced much perturbation of mind by mopping his florid face. A Flounder had been clapped on his head and when it came away it brought all the hair under it, leaving only a slight fringe. His lips and cherubic mouth were pursed and screwed up to simulate an executive air. As he jerked his thumb indicating a wicker chair opposite him, I noticed the little clerk sat at a small desk at the side of the car, with notebook and pencil poised significantly.

"What have you to say about this matter?" he asked without delay, withdrawing his eyes and winking violently as soon as they met mine.

"Nothing," I answered good naturedly.

"I understand you were here investigating the loss of the dynamite when the explosion occurred. Have you no theory as to how it occurred?"

"No, I have no theory: I know how it occurred."

"Would you"—he hesitated, looking down and bringing his chubby hands together before him—"would you mind telling me what you know about it?"

"My information will not be available to the railroad through me, but if you will dismiss your clerk, I will give you, as man to man, enough information to ease your mind." In saying this I was thinking only of Hiram.

After some hesitation, he nodded to the expectant clerk, who rose instantly and left the apartment.

"Mr. Taylor—I believe you said your name was Taylor—this matter has upset me, and I may have been rude," he apologized, and lapsed into the attitude of a very decent fellow with troubles of his own. I then gave him enough details to put Hiram right. He was immensely relieved and pleased to gain such valuable information.

"You seem to know something of this young Strong?" he queried. My reply was that I thought I had a very good line on Hiram Strong, Jr.

"His cash and station records are as clean and straight as a pin—he seems to be rather under-classed and is capable of better things. What are his antecedents?" The superintendent's interest was aroused.

"My knowledge does not extend beyond his father, a Southerner, now a prominent financier in New York. It appears he decided that the only way to make something of this boy was to throw him out entirely on his own resources, and apparently the old gentleman's reasoning was good."

"I believe you are right; there is good blood in him. Our big trouble is in making good railroad men from material without any blood base. We frequently have to make 'a silk purse from a sow's ear,' which is generally considered impossible—but we do it. Now the case of this other fellow—can you conceive of a full grown man with no better sense than to take a fifty-pound case of dynamite, drive nails into it, and then use it as a chair? But I am greatly relieved to know just how it happened, and if I can ever be of any service to you, don't fail to make it known—will you?" he asked, rising formally, to end the audience.

When I came out Hiram glanced at me searchingly, as though he would learn something from my attitude. He had been absorbing information from the train conductor. Hiram had developed a penchant for burrowing into the confidence of every one and getting inside knowledge of their difficulties.

At this time we succeeded in running around a freight train that had been holding us back, and entered New Orleans so fast that conversation was quite impossible.

Before we reached the station the clerk came out and told Hiram and Gus to report at the office at nine the next morning, at which Hiram became thoughtful, but not downcast.

He was able to get his old room next to mine, which pleased him, and after opening the connecting door and cleaning up a bit, he came in and gave me one of his strenuous whacks between my shoulders.

"Old man Ben, what do I draw to-morrow morning at nine?"

"Hiram, I don't know," I truthfully replied, working my shoulders where he had hit me, "but I think you will be drawn and quartered and made into good fertilizer; that's all you're fit for." At this he began to cavort and caper about like a colt.

"Well, I don't mind telling you how I feel—I don't give a Continental sou Marquis what I draw. I feel like fighting wild cats and buzz-saws. Now that Anna Bell Morgan has promised to marry me, nothing else matters."