Brockway glanced at his watch and answered promptly. "It'll take sharp work; the train leaves in ten minutes. I'll try it, but if I make it, I can't go with you. My hand-baggage is at the hotel, and there's no time to send for it." Ordinarily, the amendment would have killed the original proposition; but Mr. Somers saw that in Brockway's eyes which made him hasten to forestall argument. "I was afraid of that," he said; "but it can't be helped. Of course, we'd like to have you with us, but I believe the extra day is of greater importance." Brockway made a dumb show expressive of his gratitude. "All right; then I'll bid you all good-by, and get you out to-night, if I can." "But I ah--protest!" came with shrill emphasis from the vestibule, and the night-capped head of the gadfly was thrust around the door-jamb. "I ah--stipulated----" Brockway snatched the ticket-extending telegram from his pocket, thrust it into Mr. Somers's hand, and fled without another word. One minute later he was pleading eloquently with the train-despatcher. "Oh, say, Fred, let up!" protested the man of orders. "It's too late, I tell you. The train'll pull out in two minutes, and I couldn't raise the yard in that time." But the passenger agent would not be denied. He carried his point, as he usually did, and was shortly racing out across the platform, clothed with authority to hold the train until the Tadmor could be coupled thereto. Graffo, the conductor, was found just as he was about to give the signal, but he waited while the switching-engine whipped the Tadmor around and coupled it to the rear of the train, grumbling meanwhile, as was his time-honored prerogative. "Like to know how the blazes I'm going to make time to-night, with them two extras hooked on at the last minute!" he growled; but Brockway corrected him. "There's only one," he began; and when Graffo would have contradicted him, two belated passengers came in sight, hurrying across the platform to catch the waiting train. Brockway considerately ran back to help them aboard. It was the general agent and his wife; and Mrs. Burton made breathless explanations. "Changed our minds at the last minute," she gasped. "John was afraid the President might not find him with his nose in his desk when he gets there." Then, with truly feminine irrelevance: "I've been dying to get a chance to ask you how you made out--to-day--with Gertrude; quick--the train's going!" Brockway grinned. "You're the best chaperon in the world, Mrs. Burton--after the fact." "Oh, I'm _so_ glad. Can't you come along and visit with us in Salt Lake?" "Not for a king's ransom," retorted Brockway, laughing. "You may be very sure I sha'n't leave Denver while the Naught-fifty stays over there on----" He turned to point out the President's car and went speechless in the midst of his declaration at sight of the empty spur-track. The glare of the masthead arc-lights left no room for uncertainty. The private car was gone.