struggling to hold his umbrella upright
while he rolled a cigarette. He turned as he passed the paper across
his lips.

"Throw your coat over him, Allen."

Harrison pasted the paper roll, and putting it to his mouth felt for
his matchcase. "Throw _my_ coat over him!"

"Yes."

Allen took out a match. "Well, I like that. That's like you,
Gertrude. Suppose you throw your coat over him."

Gertrude looked silently at her companion. There is a moment when
women should be humored; not all men are fortunate enough to recognize
it. Louise, still walking ahead, called, "Come on," but Gertrude did
not move.

"Allen, throw your coat over the poor fellow," she urged. "You
wouldn't let your dog lie like that in the rain."

"But, Gertrude--do me the kindness"--he passed his umbrella to her that
he might better manage the lighting--"he's not my dog."

If she made answer it was only in the expression of her eyes. She
handed the umbrella back, flung open her long coat and slipped it from
her shoulders. With the heavy garment in her hands she stepped from
her path toward the sleeper and noticed for the first time an utterly
disreputable-looking dog lying beside him in the weeds. The dog's long
hair was bedraggled to the color of the mud he curled in, and as he
opened his eyes without raising his head, Gertrude hesitated; but his
tail spoke a kindly greeting. He knew no harm was meant and he watched
unconcernedly while, determined not to recede from her impulse,
Gertrude stepped hastily to the sleeper's side and dropped her coat
over his shoulders.

Louise was too far ahead to notice the incident. After breakfast she
asked Gertrude what the matter was.

"Nothing. Allen and I had our first quarrel this morning."

As she spoke, the train, high in the air, was creeping over the Spider
bridge.

CHAPTER II

AN ERROR AT HEADQUARTERS

When the Brock-Harrison party, familiarly known--among those with whom
they were by no means familiar--as the Steel Crowd, bought the
transcontinental lines that J. S. Bucks, the second vice-president and
general manager, had built up into a system, their first visit to the
West End was awaited with some uneasiness. An impression prevailed that
the new owners might take decided liberties with what Conductor O'Brien
termed the "personal" of the operating department.

But week after week followed the widely heralded announcement of the
purchase without the looked-for visit fr