When the President went back to the Naught-fifty after his visit to the despatcher, he meant to tell Gertrude at once what he had done, and the reason therefore; but she had retreated to her stateroom, and in reply to his tap at the door had begged to be excused. After that, there was ample time for reflection, and the President walked the floor of the central compartment, smoking many cigars, and dividing the time impartially between wondering what had become of the other members of the party, and speculating as to the probable effect upon Gertrude's hallucination of the sudden and unannounced flitting.

Almost at the last moment, when he had begun to fear they had gone to the theatre, Mrs. Dunham and the young people returned, full to the lips with suppressed excitement; and in the midst of the bustle of departure the two young women made a descent upon Gertrude's room, while Mrs. Dunham took the President aside. What passed between them, Quatremain, who was pretending to be asleep in the nearest chair, could not overhear; but that Mrs. Dunham's news was startling and not altogether unpleasant was plainly evident to the secretary.

By this time the private car had been switched to its place in the train, and when the steady rumbling of the wheels betokened the beginning of the westward journey, Gertrude appeared with the two young women, and there was a dramatic little scene in the central compartment, through which the secretary did not even pretend to sleep. The President's daughter demanded to know where they were going, and why she had not been told, ending by throwing herself into Mrs. Dunham's arms and crying as if her heart would break. And, for the first time in Quatremain's knowledge of him, the President had nothing to say, while Fleetwell spoke his mind freely, though in terms unintelligible to the secretary, and Mrs. Dunham bore the weeping young woman away to the privacy of her own stateroom. After which, Mr. Vennor, deserted of all of them, lighted another cigar and betook himself to the rear vestibule, to what meditative end Quatremain could only guess.

The train was well out of Denver and speeding swiftly through the night on its flight over the swelling plain. The President stood at the rear door of his car, gazing abstractedly at the bobbing and swaying front end of the sleeper which had been coupled to the Naught-fifty at the moment of departure. After a time the train paused at a station, and when it moved on again the light from the operator's bay-window flashed upon the name over the door of the following car. The President saw it and started back with an ejaculation which would have sounded very like an oath, had there been any one to hear it. Then he came close to the glass-panelled door and scowled out at the Tadmor as if it were a thing alive and perversely and personally responsible for this latest interference with his plans.

He was fond of boasting that he had no creed, but, in his way, Francis Vennor was a better fatalist than many who assume the name. When the grim humor of the relentless pursuit began to appeal to him, the wrathful scowl relaxed by degrees and gave place to the metallic smile. It could scarcely be prearrangement this time, he decided; it was fate and no less; and having admitted so much, he crossed the platforms and let himself into the ante-room of the Tadmor.

Brockway was still sitting in the smoking-room, and he was so taken aback that he returned the President's nod of recognition no less stiffly than it was given. Whereupon Mr. Vennor entered the compartment, gathered up his coat-tails, and sat down beside the passenger agent to finish his cigar.

Now Brockway inferred, naturally, that Gertrude's father had come to have it out with him, and for the first five minutes he waited nervously for the President to begin. Then it occurred to him that possibly Mr. Vennor had come to accord him the interview which Gertrude had promised to procure for him; and he spent five other minutes of tongue-tied embarrassment trying to pull himself together sufficiently to state his case with becoming clarity and frankness. The upshot of all this was that they sat smoking solemnly and in phlegmatic silence for upwards of a quarter of an hour, at the end of which time the President rose and tossed his cigar-butt out of the window.

"Going on through with your people, are you?" he said, steadying himself by the door-jamb.

"Yes; as far as Salt Lake," Brockway replied, wondering if he ought to apologize for the intention.

"H-m; changed your plans rather suddenly, didn't you?"

"The party changed them; I wasn't notified till ten minutes before train-time."

"No? I suppose you didn't know we were going on to-night, either, did you? or did the despatcher tell you?"

"No one told me. I knew nothing of it till I saw the Naught-fifty in the train."

"And that was?——"

"Just at the last moment—after the train had started, in fact."

"Ah. Then I am to understand that our movements have nothing to do with your being here now?"

Brockway had begun by being studiously deferential and placable, but the questions were growing rather personal.

"You are to understand nothing of the sort," he replied. "On the contrary, I am here solely because you saw fit to change your itinerary."

President Vennor was so wholly unused to anything like a retort from a junior and an inferior that he sat down in the opposite seat and felt mechanically in his pockets for a cigar. Brockway promptly capped the climax of audacity by offering one of his own, and the President took it absently.

"It is scarcely worth your while to be disrespectful, Mr. Brockway," he said, when the cigar was alight.

"I don't mean to be."

"But you intercepted my telegram this morning, and sent me a most impertinent reply."

"I did; and a little while before that, you had tried to knock me down."

"So I did, but the provocation was very considerable; you must admit that."

"Cheerfully," said Brockway, who was coming to his own in the matter of self-possession with gratifying rapidity. "But I take no shame for the telegram. As I told Miss Gertrude, I would have done a much worse thing to compass the same end."

The President frowned and coughed dryly. "The incentive was doubtless very strong, but I am told that you have since been made aware of the facts in the case—relative to my daughter's forfeiture of her patrimony, I mean."

"The 'incentive,' as you call it, was the only obstacle. When I learned that it did not exist, I asked your daughter to be my wife."

"Knowing that my consent would be withheld?"

"Taking that for granted—yes."

"Very good; your frankness is commendable. Before we go any farther, let me ask one question. Would anything I could give you induce you to go about your business—to disappear, so to speak?"

"Yes."

"Name it," said the President, with ill-concealed satisfaction.

"Your daughter's hand in marriage."

"Ah;"—he lost his hold upon the hopeful alternative and made no sign—"nothing less?"

"Nothing less."

"Very good again; then we may go on to other matters. How do you expect to support a wife whose allowance of pin-money has probably exceeded your entire income?"

"As many a better man has done before me, when the woman of his choice was willing to put love before luxury," quoth Brockway, with more philosophy than he could properly lay claim to.

"H-m; love in a cottage, and all that, I suppose. It's very romantic, but you'll pardon me if I confess I'm not able to take any such philosophical view of the matter."

"Oh, certainly; I didn't suppose you would be. But if you don't like it, the remedy is in your own hands," said Brockway, with great composure.

"Ah; yesterday you told me I was mistaken in my man; this time it is you who are mistaken. Gertrude will get nothing from me."

Brockway met the cool stare of the calculating eyes without flinching, and refused to be angry.

"You know very well I didn't mean that," he said, calmly. "I wouldn't touch a penny of your money under any circumstances that I can imagine just now."

"Then what do you mean?" demanded the President.

Brockway thought he might as well die fighting, so he shrugged his shoulders and made shift to look indifferent and unconcerned.

"I'm well enough satisfied with my present income and prospects, and Gertrude is quite willing to share them with me; but if you think I'm not earning enough money, why, you are the President of a very considerable railway company, and I'll cheerfully attack anything you see fit to give me from the general passenger agency down."

"Ha!" said the President, and for once in a way he acknowledged himself fairly outdone in cold-blooded assurance; "you have the courage of your convictions to say that to me."

"Not at all," replied Brockway, riding at a gallop along the newly discovered road to the President's favor; "I merely suggest it to help you out. I'm very well contented where I am."

"Oh, you are. And yet you would consent to take service under me, after what has passed between us? I say you have courage; I could break you in a year."

"Possibly; but you wouldn't, you know."

The President rose and held out his hand with a smile which no man might analyze.

"You refuse to be bullied, don't you? and you say you would attack anything. I believe you would, and I like that; you shall be given the opportunity, and under a harder master than you have ever had. You may even find yourself required to make bricks without straw. Come, now, hadn't you better retract and go about your business?"

"Never a word; and where Gertrude goes, I go," said Brockway, taking the proffered hand with what show of indifference he could command.

"Very well, if you will have it so. If you are of the same mind in the morning, perhaps you'd better join us at breakfast and we can talk it over. Will you come?"

"Yes, if you will tell the other members of your party why I am there."

The President smiled again, sardonically this time.

"I think the occasion for that has gone by," he said. "Good-night."

When the outer door closed behind his visitor, Brockway collapsed as was his undoubted privilege. Then he revived under the stimulus of an overwaxing and masterful desire to see Gertrude again before he slept—to share the good news with her before the burden of it should crush him. And he was considering how it might be brought about when the engineer blew the whistle for Bending Bow.