eg pardon?" says Bixby, gawpin'.

"It lapsed," says I, "eighteen months ago. Here's a copy, O. K.'d by a
Minnesota notary public. See the date?"

"Allow me," says Mr. Runyon, reachin' for it.

Old Hickory gets up and rubbers over his shoulder. "By George!" says he.
"It has lapsed, Runyon. Torchy, where's a map of----"

"Here you are," says I. "You'll see the branch line sketched in there.
That would cut our haul about fifteen miles."

"And leave you with a lot of vacant ore docks on your hands, eh,
Runyon?" puts in Old Hickory. "We could have those rails laid by the
time the ice was out of the Soo. Well, well! Throws rather a new light
on the situation, doesn't it?"

Marcus T. turns slow and fixes them keen eyes of his on Bixby the Busy.

"Hm-m-m!" says he. "It seems that we have overlooked a point, Bixby.
Perhaps, though, you can offer----"

He can. Some shifty private sec, Bixby is.

"Your milk, sir," says he, grabbin' the tray and shovin' it in front of
Runyon.

For a second or so the great Marcus T. eyes it indignant. Then his
shoulders sag, the fire dies out of his eyes, and he takes the glass.

He's about the best trained plute I ever saw in captivity.

"And I think the doctor should take your temperature now," adds Bixby.
"I will call him."

As he slips off toward the back end of the car Mr. Runyon lets out a
sigh.

"It's no use, Ellins," says he. "One can't pamper a ruined digestion and
still enjoy these friendly little business bouts. One simply can't. Name
your own terms for continuing that terminal lease."

Old Hickory does prompt, for we don't want to buy rails at the price
they're bringin' now.

"And by the way, Runyon," says he, "may I ask what you pay your young
man? I'm just curious."

"Bixby?" says Runyon. "Oh, twenty-five hundred."

"Huh!" says Mr. Ellins. "My secretary forgets my milk now and then, but
he remembers such trifles as lapsed charters. He is drawing three
thousand."

I hope Marcus T. didn't hear the gasp I lets out--I tried to smother it.
And the first thing I does when we gets back into the limousine is to
grin at the boss.

"Whaddye mean, three thousand?" says I.

"Dollars," says he. "Beginning to-day."

"Z-z-z-zing!" says I. "Going up, up! And there I was plannin' to take a
special course in trained nursin', so I could hold my job."

CHAPTER IV

SWITCHING ARTS ON LEON

Oh, sure! We're coming along grand. Did you think we'd be heavin' the
blue wi