It is all very different now, I am told. They have iron railings with wicket-gates and sentinels in uniform who ask to see your ticket, and a squad of policemen to keep order, and rain-sheds over the platforms (it used not to rain in the Denver I knew), and all the other appurtenances and belongings of a well-conducted railway terminus. But the elder order of disorder obtained on the autumn morning when the "Flying Kestrel" came to rest opposite the gap in the bisected trains filling the other tracks. Brockway was the first man out of the Tadmor, but the gadfly was a close second. "No, sir; I don't intend to lose sight of you, Mr. ah--Brockway," he quavered; and he hung at the passenger agent's elbow while the latter was marshalling the party for the descent on the breakfast-room, a process which vocalized itself thus: _Brockway_, handing the ladies in the debarking procession down the steps of the car: "Breakfast is ready in the dining-room. Special tables reserved for this party. Wait, and we'll all go in together. Leave your hand-baggage with the porter, unless it's something you will need during the day. Take your time; you have thirty minutes before the train leaves for Clear Creek Canyon and the Loop." _Chorus of the Personally Conducted:_ "How long did you say we'd have?" "What are they going to do with our car while we're gone?" "Say, Mr. Passenger Agent, are you sure the baggage will be safe if we leave it with the porter?" "What time have you now?" "How far is it over to those mountains?" "Oh, Mr. Brockway; won't this be a good chance to see if my trunk was put on the train with the others?" "Say; what time did you say that Clear Creek Canyon train leaves?" _Brockway_, answering the last question because the inquirer happens to be nearest at hand: "Eight o'clock." _The Querist_, with his watch (which he has omitted to set back to mountain time) in his hand: "Eight o'clock? Then it's gone--it's half-past eight now! Look here." _Brockway_, who is vainly endeavoring to persuade an elderly maiden lady to leave her canary in charge of the porter during the day: "That is central time you have, Mr. Tucker; mountain time is one hour slower. Careful, Mr. Perkins; let me take your grip. You won't need it to-day." _The Elderly Maiden Lady:_ "Now, Mr. Brockway, are you _sure_ it'll be perfectly safe to leave Dicky with the porter?" _Mr. Somers, sotto voce_ in Brockway's ear: "Hang Dicky! Let's go to breakfast." _The Gadfly:_ "Mr. ah--Brockway, you will oblige me by sitting at my table. I don't ah--purpose to lose sight of you, sir." _Brockway_, to the porter: "All out, John?" _The Porter_, with the cavernous smile of his kind: "All out, sah." _Brockway_, sandwiching himself between two of the unescorted ladies: "All aboard for the dining-room!"