Albany through to Boston. Leave three-five P. M. (you needn't wire
that); arrive nine-five P. M. Wednesday. That covers everything Wade
will do, but it pays to shake up the managers."

"It's great," said Miss Kinzey, with a look of admiration. This was the
kind of man she understood and appreciated.

"'Tisn't bad," said Milsom, modestly. "Now, any one but me would have
lost thirty hours and spent a week working out the run, instead of
handing him over to the Santa Fe straight through to Chicago."

"But see here, about that Noo York Limited. Chauncey Depew himself
couldn't hitch his car to her," Miss Kinzey suggested, recovering
herself.

"Yes, but this isn't Chauncey. It's Cheyne--lightning. It goes."

"Even so. Guess we'd better wire the boy. You've forgotten that,
anyhow."

"I'll ask."

When he returned with the father's message bidding Harvey meet them in
Boston at an appointed hour, he found Miss Kinzey laughing over the
keys. Then Milsom laughed too, for the frantic clicks from Los Angeles
ran: "We want to know why-why-why? General uneasiness developed and
spreading."

Ten minutes later Chicago appealed to Miss Kinzey in these words: "If
crime of century is maturing please warn friends in time. We are all
getting to cover here."

This was capped by a message from Topeka (and wherein Topeka was
concerned even Milsom could not guess): "Don't shoot, Colonel. We'll
come down."

Cheyne smiled grimly at the consternation of his enemies when the
telegrams were laid before him. "They think we're on the warpath. Tell
'em we don't feel like fighting just now, Milsom. Tell 'em what we're
going for. I guess you and Miss Kinsey had better come along, though it
isn't likely I shall do any business on the road. Tell 'em the
truth--for once."

So the truth was told. Miss Kinzey clicked in the sentiment while the
secretary added the memorable quotation, "Let us have peace," and in
board rooms two thousand miles away the representatives of sixty-three
million dollars' worth of variously manipulated railroad interests
breathed more freely. Cheyne was flying to meet the only son, so
miraculously restored to him. The bear was seeking his cub, not the
bulls. Hard men who had their knives drawn to fight for their financial
lives put away the weapons and wished him God-speed, while half a dozen
panic-smitten tin-pot toads perked up their heads and spoke of the
wonderful things they would have done had not Cheyne buried the