e. This must be the
new boy, Bob," he added; "he acts as if he might make things go."

His companion, Bob Scott, smiled as he followed Stanley out upon the
platform and up the narrow stairway leading to the division offices.
But Bob Scott was conservative. He never spoke above an undertone and
naturally took the conservative side: "If he only doesn't make them go
too fast, Colonel," was his comment.

A tall young man, spare but almost gigantic in stature, standing back
in one corner of the agent's office as the men about him were hustled
along, likewise regarded Bucks with surprise as he saw him start
single-handed to expel the intruders. This was the mountain telegraph
lineman, Bill Dancing, as simple as he was strong, and ready at any
time to be surprised, but not often disconcerted. In this instance,
however, he was amazed, for almost before he realized it the energetic
operator was hustling him out with the others.

When Bucks thought the room cleared he turned to go back to his table,
but he saw that one man had been overlooked. This man was still
sitting on a stool in the farthest corner of the dimly lighted room.
The spindling operator without hesitation walked over to him and laid
his hand on the man's shoulder. Dancing, looking back through the
door, held his breath.

"Move out of here, please," said Bucks, "into the public waiting-room."
The man rose with the utmost politeness. "Sorry to be in your way,"
he returned mildly, though there was a note not quite pleasant in his
voice.

"Your place is outside," continued the operator. "I can't do anything
with a mob in here all talking at once."

"I haven't done my talking yet," suggested the man, with a shade of
significance. This, however, was lost on Bucks, who looked sharply at
the stool from which the man had risen.

"I think this stool is mine," said he, picking it up and examining it.
"It is mine," he added, after a moment's inspection. "Please move
on."

"Perhaps before I go," returned the man with the same unpleasant
irony, "you will tell me whether you have an express package here for
Harvey Levake."

"Of course I will, Harvey," responded the operator in a matter-of-fact
way. "Just wait a minute."

Levake's lips stretched into a ghost of a smile, and his white-lashed
gray eyes contracted with an effort at amiability.

The operator, going inside the railing, ran over the express way-bills
which, not yet entered up, lay on the freight desk.