rkinson Chenney, with a little smile. "I
rather fancy I have managed their coal concession well, Prime Minister."

"Yes, yes," said the Prime Minister, who was not in the mood for
handing out bouquets. "And would you run down to Tolness and settle up
that infernal commission of inquiry? They've been asking questions in
the House, and I can give no very definite reply. Solebury threatened
to force a division when the vote came up. Undoubtedly there's been a
great deal of extravagance, but you may be able to wangle a reasonable
explanation."

"Trust me, Prime Minister," said Mr. Parkinson Chenney, and left that
afternoon by special train for Tolness.

On that very morning Bones, in a pair of overalls and with a rapt
expression, stood with his hand on the starting lever of "Mary Louisa,"
and explained to the secretary of the company--she also wore white
overalls and sat in the cab of the engine--just how simple a matter it
was to drive a locomotive.

For two glorious days Bones had driven the regular service between
Lynhaven and Bayham Junction, where the lines met. He had come to know
every twist and turn of the road, every feature of the somewhat
featureless landscape, and the four passengers who travelled regularly
every day except Sundays--there was no Sunday service--were now so
familiar to him that he did not trouble to take their tickets.

The Lynhaven Railway system was not as elaborate as he had thought. He
had been impressed by the number of railway trucks which stood in the
siding at the terminus, but was to discover that they did not belong to
the railway, the rolling stock of which consisted of "Mary Louisa," an
asthmatic but once famous locomotive, and four weather-beaten coaches.
The remainder of the property consisted of a half right in a bay
platform at Bayham Junction and the dilapidated station building at
Lynhaven, which was thoughtfully situated about two miles from the town.

Nobody used the railway; that was the stark truth borne in upon
Marguerite Whitland. She recognised, with a sense of dismay, the
extraordinary badness of the bargain which Bones had made. Bones, with
a real locomotive to play with--he had given the aged engine-driver a
week's holiday--saw nothing but the wonderful possibilities of pulling
levers and making a mass of rusting machinery jerk asthmatically
forward at the touch of his hand.

"There are a lot of people," said Bones, affectionately patting a steam
pipe,