in
answer that he will be there in the course of time, and as Tim prowls
round the corner of the station he follows after to see what is meant by
it.

"What, are you not going out again in the box car, young hobo?" he asks.

"It is a fine home if you have but the bread," says Tim.

"A home?" repeats the other. "Mr. James Craney, I am," he informs with
dignity; "chief clerk to the general yardmaster, who has no other but
me. Is it reasonable, young hobo, as man to man, that you can jolly me
along?"

He peers round the corner, and for the first time Regan, a towering
figure of a man, turns so that Tim can see his face. The bell of the
special rings faintly as the sweep of his glance takes in Mr. Craney and
the vagabond boy; then he steps on board and in a moment the glittering
brass spark of the car amid the flying dust cloud flings Regan's last
signal to the G. S. Railroad.

But the towering black-browed man lingers in the mind's eyes of Timothy;
a giant who has stepped out of the unknown and swept him with slow
smoldering glance and then stepped back again.

Thus they meet and part, and the great man holds no more memory of the
vagabond than if he had never been; but in the bony little breast under
the rags the heart leaps high, and on the instant Tim takes up the trail
which Destiny, a far-sighted old creature, has long since blazed out for
him.

"He is the big boss," says the boy with awe, gazing after the spangle of
the flying train.

"I would not envy Regan if I were you," advises Craney. "See how he has
gone--with no friend to bid him godspeed because of the way he has kept
us all under."

But the boy still gazes after the spangle in the dust. "Divil a bit will
Regan care whether he be godspeeded or not," he says, so boldly that
Craney considers him with respect.

"I see that yourself has ambition along of the rags," he says with
meditation. "Then I know a job where you may use the ambition freely and
never a chance to part with the rags," he says. "A job which is the
equal of Regan's in every way, only on a smaller scale, you understand;
where you will be general manager of a railroad and all the other
officials to boot, including your own pay-master. Do I interest you?"

Tim nods in respect to the big words and Mr. Craney instructs him:
"Whist! Arrange your running time to meet me passing the yard-limit post
yonder at six one P.M."

And to make it official he scribbles a train order in his note-bo