“Say, Jarvis, have you seen anything of Harry Antrim this evening?” The reporter nodded. “Um-hm; saw him heading for his office half an hour ago, plugging along with his head down and his hands in his pockets. What’s struck him lately?” “I don’t know,” replied the bearwarden truthfully enough; “much obliged.” But when he would have gone on, Jarvis turned and went with him. “Going to hunt him up? I’ll mog along with you. The old man says the president of the C. E. & W. is coming in on a special, and I’d like to get the facts for an item.” “Can’t you telephone?” asked Brant, remembering the nature of his errand. “I suppose I could, but I don’t mind the walk. Say, it’s queer about Harry, isn’t it? Never saw a man let go all holds at once like he has.” “He will get over it; it’s nothing worse than a fit of the blues,” said Brant, taxing his ingenuity meanwhile for an expedient which would rid him of the reporter. “Blues nothing! Fit of the ‘jimmies,’ if he doesn’t pull up pretty short. He isn’t built right to carry bug juice in bulk, and that is just about what he is trying to do.” “What was it you said to me about preaching last night?” asked Brant, as they climbed the stair to the railway offices. “Never mind about that; you were preaching at me, and I didn’t need it. Now, with a fellow like Harry it’s different----” They were at the door of the train despatcher’s room, and Brant paused. “Better ask Disbrow about the special,” he said, with a glance at the darkened transom of the superintendent’s office. “Harry doesn’t seem to be here.” The reporter acted upon the suggestion; and when he was alone in the corridor Brant went quickly to the door of the darkened office. It was ajar, and when he pushed it open the light from the hall fell full upon the figure of the chief clerk lying inert and helpless across the open desk. Brant took in the situation at a glance, closed the door softly, and walked back toward the despatcher’s room. Jarvis was a good fellow, but he already knew too much about Antrim’s affair, and he must be got rid of at all hazards. He met the reporter as the latter was coming out of Disbrow’s door. “Get what you wanted?” he inquired. “No. You railroad fellows are all of a piece when it comes to giving up anything that the public would care to read about. Disbrow says he doesn’t know anything about a special train--didn’t know the president was coming. Between you and me and the gatepost, I think he doesn’t know much of anything.” “Then you’ll have to forego the item.” “Forego nothing! I’ll hang around this old shack till morning, now, but what I’ll find out about that train.” Brant laughed. “I like your persistence, even if it is a little out of proportion to the object. Come into my office here and sit down and smoke a cigar while I try my hand at it. I owe you a good turn, anyway.”