ons of Hughey Podmore as he lounged comfortably in
a leather chair aboard the private car, "Obaska," and idly watched the
endless flow of the Algoma wilderness pass the windows monotonously.
The car had taken an inspection party west to the head of the lakes,
but a wire from the Vice-President was sending the President back to
headquarters unexpectedly. Besides President Wade, Podmore and Taylor,
the steward, the only person on board was Bob Cranston. Cranston was
chief of the railroad's Special Service Department. Taylor was busy in
his kitchen, preparing dinner. Cranston and the President had the
brass-railed observation platform at the rear of the car to themselves
and were deep in earnest conversation; they had shut the door at their
backs and the sound of their voices was lost in the roar of the wheels.

Hughey Podmore smiled cynically as he watched them. There was nothing
in President Wade's fine strong profile to indicate the trend of talk.
Both, in fact, were men who seldom allowed what they were thinking to
reflect in their facial expressions too readily. Nevertheless, the
perspicacious Mr. Podmore could surmise the subject of conversation, or
at any rate give a guess which was close enough to satisfy his own
curiosity.

He amused himself by running over the list of possible topics. Wade
was a big man in financial circles, a man of rugged and plain-spoken
dealings who commanded the confidence of every associate and was
respected even by his enemies. There were many matters of moment which
he might have discussed with bankers or lawyers or statesmen, but which
he would hardly attempt with a bull-necked bonehead like Cranston.
Government railway bond issues, franchises and stock-quotations were
beyond that cheap stiff's depth. Probably Cranston was holding forth
in regard to some petty theft which his crew of spotters had
discovered, some ticket-scalping conductor----

Or there was old Nat Lawson's case in which Wade was interested; it was
a topic that was often uppermost in the railway President's mind, as
Podmore knew, and Hughey smiled inscrutably at the smoke curling from
his cigarette. Old Nat, the founder and former president of the
Interprovincial Loan & Savings Company--the honest old fool whom
Nickleby had succeeded in overcoming by a trick, and whose shoes J.
Cuthbert was now wearing! It would take more than the friendship of a
Benjamin Wade, powerful though that was, to salvage Old Nat. T