d a disconcerting ring. And now this simple
glance of hers had troubled him--only more definitely.

It was a new experience for the Honourable Hilary to go into a business
meeting with his faculties astray. Absently he rang the stable bell,
surrendered his horse, and followed a footman to the retired part of
the house occupied by the railroad president. Entering the oak-bound
sanctum, he crossed it and took a seat by the window, merely nodding to
Mr. Flint, who was dictating a letter. Mr. Flint took his time about the
letter, but when it was finished he dismissed the stenographer with
an impatient and powerful wave of the hand--as though brushing the man
bodily out of the room. Remaining motionless until the door had closed,
Mr. Flint turned abruptly and fixed his eyes on the contemplative figure
of his chief counsel.

"Well?" he said.

"Well, Flint," answered the Honourable Hilary.

"Well," said Mr. Flint, "that bridge over Maple River has got loosened
up so by the freshet that we have to keep freight cars on it to hold it
down, and somebody is trying to make trouble by writing a public
letter to the Railroad Commission, and calling attention to the head-on
collision at Barker's Station."

"Well," replied the Honourable Hilary, again, "that won't have any
influence on the Railroad Commission."

"No," said Mr. Flint, "but it all goes to increase this confounded
public sentiment that's in the air, like smallpox. Another jackass
pretends to have kept a table of the through trains on the Sumsic
division, and says they've averaged forty-five minutes late at
Edmundton. He says the through express made the run faster thirty years
ago."

"I guess that's so," said the Honourable Hilary, "I was counsel for
that road then. I read that letter. He says there isn't an engine on the
division that could pull his hat off, up grade."

Neither of the two gentlemen appeared to deem this statement humorous.

"What these incendiaries don't understand," said Mr. Flint, "is that we
have to pay dividends."

"It's because they don't get 'em," replied Mr. Vane, sententiously.

"The track slid into the water at Glendale," continued Mr. Flint. "I
suppose they'll tell us we ought to rock ballast that line. You'll see
the Railroad Commission, and give 'em a sketch of a report."

"I had a talk with Young yesterday," said Mr. Vane, his eyes on the
stretch of lawn and forest framed by the window. For the sake of the
ignorant, it may be w