he man of orders. "It's too late, I
tell you. The train'll pull out in two minutes, and I couldn't raise the
yard in that time."

But the passenger agent would not be denied. He carried his point, as he
usually did, and was shortly racing out across the platform, clothed
with authority to hold the train until the Tadmor could be coupled
thereto. Graffo, the conductor, was found just as he was about to give
the signal, but he waited while the switching-engine whipped the Tadmor
around and coupled it to the rear of the train, grumbling meanwhile, as
was his time-honored prerogative.

"Like to know how the blazes I'm going to make time to-night, with them
two extras hooked on at the last minute!" he growled; but Brockway
corrected him.

"There's only one," he began; and when Graffo would have contradicted
him, two belated passengers came in sight, hurrying across the platform
to catch the waiting train. Brockway considerately ran back to help them
aboard. It was the general agent and his wife; and Mrs. Burton made
breathless explanations.

"Changed our minds at the last minute," she gasped. "John was afraid the
President might not find him with his nose in his desk when he gets
there." Then, with truly feminine irrelevance: "I've been dying to get a
chance to ask you how you made out--to-day--with Gertrude; quick--the
train's going!"

Brockway grinned. "You're the best chaperon in the world, Mrs.
Burton--after the fact."

"Oh, I'm _so_ glad. Can't you come along and visit with us in Salt
Lake?"

"Not for a king's ransom," retorted Brockway, laughing. "You may be very
sure I sha'n't leave Denver while the Naught-fifty stays over there
on----" He turned to point out the President's car and went speechless
in the midst of his declaration at sight of the empty spur-track. The
glare of the masthead arc-lights left no room for uncertainty. The
private car was gone.

"Why, Fred! what is the matter?" queried Mrs. Burton anxiously from the
step of the sleeping-car; but at that moment Graffo swung his lantern
and the train began to move.

Brockway stood staring across at the empty spur in witless amazement,
but he sprang back out of the way when the step of the car next to the
regular sleeper brushed him in passing. The touch broke the spell. As he
started back, the sheen of the nearest electric lamp fell fairly upon
the oval medallion on the side of the moving car, and he saw the gilt
figures "050" flash for a half-sec