KERR and Holt were at Buckhom Junction with the pay-car, a decrepit caboose that complained in every wheel as the engine jerked it over the rails. Holt said that its motion was good for Kerr's dyspepsia. He called it the pay-car cure, and professed to believe it a subtle manifestation of the general's benevolence.

Miss Walton was having a holiday. This left Oakley the sole tenant of the office.

He had returned from Chicago the day before, where he had gone to drum up work.

It was a hot, breathless morning in May. The machinery in the shops droned on and on, with the lazy, softened hum of revolving wheels, or the swish of swiftly passing belts. A freight was cutting out cars in the yards. It was rather noisy and bumped discordantly in and out of the sidings.

Beyond the tracks and a narrow field, where the young corn stood in fresh green rows, was a line of stately sycamores and vivid willows that bordered Billup's Fork. Tradition had it that an early settler by the name of Billup had been drowned there—a feat that must have required considerable ingenuity on his part, as the stream was nothing but a series of shallow riffles, with an occasional deep hole. Once Jeffy, generously drunk, had attempted to end his life in the fork. He had waded in above his shoe-tops, only to decide that the water was too cold, and had waded out again, to the keen disappointment of six small boys on the bank, who would have been grateful for any little excitement. He said he wanted to live to invent a drink that tasted as good coming up as it did going down; there was all kinds of money in such a drink. But the boys felt they had been swindled, and threw stones at him. It is sometimes difficult to satisfy an audience. Nearer at hand, but invisible, Clarence was practising an elusive dance-step in an empty coal-car. He was inspired by a lofty ambition to equal—he dared not hope to excel—a gentleman he had seen at a recent minstrel performance.

McClintock, passing, had inquired sarcastically if it was his busy day, but Clarence had ignored the question. He felt that he had nothing in common with one who possessed such a slavish respect for mere industry.

Presently McClintock wandered in from the hot out-of-doors to talk over certain repairs he wished undertaken in the shops. He was a typical American mechanic, and Oakley liked him, as he always liked the man who knew his business and earned his pay.

They discussed the repairs, and then Oakley asked, “How's my father getting along, Milt?”

“Oh, all right. He's a little slow, that's all.”

“What's he on now?”

“Those blue-line cars that came in last month.”

“There isn't much in that batch. I had to figure close to get the work. Keep the men moving.”

“They are about done. I'll put the painters on the job to-morrow.”

“That's good.”

McClintock went over to the water-cooler in the corner and filled a stemless tumbler with ice-water.

“We'll be ready to send them up to Buckhorn the last of next week. Is there anything else in sight?”

He gulped down the water at a single swallow. “No, not at present, but there are one or two pretty fair orders coming in next month that I was lucky enough to pick up in Chicago. Isn't there any work of our own we can go at while things are slack?”

“Lots of it,” wiping his hands on the legs of his greasy overalls. “All our day coaches need paint, and some want new upholstery.”

“We'd better go at that, then.”

“All right. I'll take a look at the cars in the yards, and see what I can put out in place of those we call in. There's no use talking, Mr. Oakley, you've done big things for the shops,” he added.

“Well, I am getting some work for them, and while there isn't much profit in it, perhaps, it's a great deal better than being idle.”

“Just a whole lot,” agreed McClintock.

“I think I can pick up contracts enough to keep us busy through the summer. I understand you've always had to shut down.”

“Yes, or half-time,” disgustedly.

“I guess we can worry through without that; at any rate, I want to,” observed Oakley.

“I'll go see how I can manage about our own repairs,” said McClintock.

He went out, and from the window Oakley saw him with a bunch of keys in his hand going in the direction of a line of battered day coaches on one of the sidings. The door opened again almost immediately to admit Griff Ryder. This was almost the last person in Antioch from whom Dan was expecting a call. The editor's cordiality as he greeted him made him instantly suspect that some favor was wanted. Most people who came to the office wanted favors. Usually it was either a pass or a concession on freight.

As a rule, Kerr met all such applicants. His manner fitted him for just such interviews, and he had no gift for popularity, which suffered in consequence.

Ryder pushed a chair over beside Oakley's and seated himself. By sliding well down on his spine he managed to reach the low sill of the window with his feet. He seemed to admire the effect, for he studied them in silence for a moment.

“There's a little matter I want to speak to you about, Oakley. I've been intending to run in for the past week, but I have been so busy I couldn't.”

Oakley nodded for him to go on.

“In the first place, I'd like to feel that you were for Kenyon. You can be of a great deal of use to us this election. It's going to be close, and Kenyon's a pretty decent sort of a chap to have come out of these parts. You ought to take an interest in seeing him re-elected.”

Oakley surmised that this was the merest flattery intended to tickle his vanity. He answered promptly that he didn't feel the slightest interest in politics one way or the other.

“Well, but one good fellow ought to wish to see another good fellow get what he's after, and you can help us if you've a mind to; but this isn't what I've come for. It's about Hoadley.”

“What about Hoadley?” quickly.

“He's got the idea that his days with the Huckleberry are about numbered.”

“I haven't said so.”

“I know you haven't.”

“Then what is he kicking about? When he's to go, he'll hear of it from me.”

“But, just the same, it's in the air that there's to be a shake-up, and that a number of men, and Hoad-ly among them, are going to be laid off. Now, he's another good fellow, and he's a friend of mine, and I told him I'd come in and fix it up with you.”

“I don't think you can fix it up with me, Mr. Ryder. Just the same, I'd like to know how this got out.”

“Then there is to be a shake-up?”

Oakley bit his lips. “You seem to take it for granted there is to be.”

“I guess there's something back of the rumor.”

“I may as well tell you why Hoadley's got to go.”

“Oh, he is to go, then? I thought my information was correct.”

“In the first place, he's not needed, and in the second place, he's a lazy loafer. The road must earn its keep. General Cornish is sick of putting his hand in his pocket every six months to keep it out of bankruptcy. You are enough of a business man to know he won't stand that sort of thing forever. Of course I am sorry for Hoadley if he needs the money, but some one's got to suffer, and he happens to be the one. I'll take on his work myself. I can do it, and that's a salary saved. I haven't any personal feeling in the matter. The fact that I don't like him, as it happens, has nothing to do with it. If he were my own brother he'd have to get out.”

“I can't see that one man, more or less, is going to make such a hell of a difference, Oakley,” Ryder urged, with what he intended should be an air of frank good-fellowship.

“Can't you?” with chilly dignity. Oakley was slow to anger, but he had always fought stubbornly for what he felt was due him, and he wished the editor to understand that the management of the B. & A. was distinctly not his province.

Ryder's eyes were half closed, and only a narrow slit of color showed between the lids.

“I am very much afraid we won't hit it off. I begin to see we aren't going to get on. I want you to keep Hoadley as a personal favor to me. Just wait until I finish. If you are going in for reform, I may have it in my power to be of some service to you. You will need some backing here, and even a country newspaper can manufacture public sentiment. Now if we aren't to be friends you will find me on the other side, and working just as hard against you as I am willing to work for you if you let Hoadley stay.”

Oakley jumped up.

“I don't allow anybody to talk like that to me. I am running this for Cornish. They are his interests, not mine, and you can start in and manufacture all the public sentiment you damn please.” Then he cooled down a bit and felt ashamed of himself for the outburst.

“I am not going to be unfair to any one if I can help it. But if the road's earnings don't meet the operating expenses the general will sell it to the M. & W. Do you understand what that means? It will knock Antioch higher than a kite, for the shops will be closed. I guess when all hands get that through their heads they will take it easier.”

“That's just the point I made. Who is going to enlighten them if it isn't me? I don't suppose you will care to go around telling everybody what a fine fellow you are, and how thankful they should be that you have stopped their wages. We can work double, Oakley. I want Hoadley kept because he's promised me his influence for Kenyon if I'd exert myself in his behalf. He's of importance up at the Junction. Of course we know he's a drunken beast, but that's got nothing to do with it.”

“I am sorry, but he's got to go,” said Oakley, doggedly. “A one-horse railroad can't carry dead timber.”

“Very well.” And Ryder pulled in his legs and rose slowly from his chair. “If you can't and won't see it as I do it's your lookout.”

Oakley laughed, shortly.

“I guess I'll be able to meet the situation, Mr. Ryder.”

“Perhaps you will, and perhaps you won't. We'll see about that when the time comes.”

“You heard what I said about the M. & W.?”

“Well, what about that?”

“You understand what it means—the closing of the shops?”

“Oh, I guess that's a long ways off.”

He stalked over to the door with his head in the air. He was mad clear through. At the door he turned. Hoadley's retention meant more to him than he would have admitted. It was not that he cared a rap for Hoadley. On the contrary, he detested him, but the fellow was a power in country politics.

“If you should think better of it—” and he was conscious his manner was weak with the weakness of the man who has asked and failed.

“I sha'n't,” retorted Oakley, laconically.

He scouted the idea that Ryder, with his little country newspaper could either help or harm him.