hen Cyrus entered. At the designated
spot the messenger met him. Cyrus recognized the man as a porter on one
of the trains of the road of which his grandfather and father were
officers. Why, yes, he was the porter of the Woodbridge special car! He
brought the boy a card which ran thus:

Give porter the letter from Norwalk Building, the card
received at restaurant, the matinee coupon, yesterday
evening's _Sentinel_, and the envelope received at
Kingston Heights. C. W., Jr.

Cyrus silently delivered up these articles, feeling a sense of
thankfulness that not one was missing. The porter went away with them,
but was back in three minutes.

"This way, sir," he said, and Cyrus followed, his heart beating fast.
Down the track he recognized the "Fleetwing," President Woodbridge's
private car. And Grandfather Cornelius he knew to be just starting on a
tour of his own and other roads, which included a flying trip to Mexico.
Could it be possible----

In the car his father and grandfather rose to meet him. Cornelius
Woodbridge, Senior, was holding out his hand.

"Cyrus, lad," he said, his face one broad, triumphant smile, "you have
stood the test--the Hezekiah Woodbridge test, sir--and you may be proud
of it. Your word of honour can be depended upon. You are going with us
through nineteen states and Mexico. Is that reward enough for one day's
hardship?"

"I think it is, sir," agreed Cyrus, his round face reflecting his
grandfather's smile, intensified.

"Was it a hard pull, Cyrus?" questioned the elder Woodbridge with
interest.

Cyrus looked at his father. "I don't think so--now, sir," he said. Both
gentlemen laughed.

"Are you hungry?"

"Well, just a little, grandfather."

"Dinner will be served the moment we are off. We've only six minutes to
wait. I'm afraid--I'm very much afraid"--the old gentleman turned to
gaze searchingly out of the car window into the station--"that another
boy's word of honour isn't----"

He stood, watch in hand. The conductor came in and remained, awaiting
orders. "Two minutes more, Mr. Jefferson," he said. "One and a
half----one half a minute." He spoke sternly: "Pull out at 8:14 on the
second, sir. Ah----"

The porter entered hurriedly, and delivered a handful of envelopes into
Grandfather Cornelius's grasp. The old gentleman scanned them at a
glance.

"Yes--yes--all right!" he cried, with the strongest evidences of
excitement Cyrus had ever seen in his usuall