"Oh, yes, certainly. I am sure I am much obliged. I beg your pardon. Have you said all you wished to say?" "Nothing more," said Max, half offended. "I beg your pardon," said Mr. Beal again. "I came to beg yours," said Max, just rising to the drollery of the position. "I beg your pardon," said Mr. Beal once more, "but--I have been afraid--of this thing ever since I was on the line. You say you do not want to fight with the company. Quite right, young man, quite right! The company is friends with all the world, and wants no fighting." But after this pacific beginning Mr. Beal went on to say that he was well aware, and that the directors were aware, that any man had a right to use their rails if he did not interfere with the public convenience. He did not say, but Max was quick enough to see, that the fact that he and Bertha had used the rails for so long a time, and the company never knew it, was itself evidence that the public had suffered no inconvenience. In an instant Max saw, and his uncle saw, that Mr. Beal was much more anxious to keep this fact from the public than he was to apprehend any offenders, if offenders they had been. "Mr. Keesler, the press would make no end of fun of us if this thing was known." This after a pause. "Suppose, Mr. Keesler, you turn your stock over to us, at a fair valuation, and I give you the first berth I have as a driver? I am afraid I cannot engage your conductor." This with a sick smile. Max was amazed. He came to be scolded. It seemed he was expected to offer terms. "Frankly, Mr. Keesler, we had rather not have much public discussion as to the rights of individuals to put their cars on our rails. You seem to be tired of the business. What do you say?" Max made a very short answer. The truth was, he was sick to death of the business. In very little time he had named his price for the car, and as soon as it was named, Mr. Beal agreed. "But how shall I take possession?" said Mr. Beal. "If I send one of my men for it, the story will be in the Herald within three days." "Trust me for that," said Max. "Till you have your car you need not send your check." The Cosmopolitan cars do not run after midnight. At one the next morning Max drew out the fatal truck upon the avenue, down to the top of the steep grade at De Kalb Street, braked up, and then took off his horses. Then, with the exquisite relief with which a soldier after his enlistment leaves his barracks, Max loosened the brake, jumped from the platform, and saw the car run from him into the night. The first morning driver on the Cosmopolitan, in the gray of the morning, met an empty car on the long causeway at Pitt's Dock. He coupled it to his own car, reported it, and was told to take it to the new Herkimer stables. * * * * * And Max? And Bertha?