In two jerks of a lamb’s tail we pushed up the window and got onto the fire-escape. Then we skittered along it, ducking past windows as quick as we could, until we were in front of a window that we judged was in the president’s room. We looked in. Sure enough, there he was leaning back in his chair and scowling and smoking like a chimney. His window was up a little from the bottom, but not enough for us to get in. We stood and watched him a minute. Then Mark says, “Here goes.” He rapped loud on the window and then pushed it up. “Good m-m-mornin’!” says he. “Kin we come in?” The president looked at us like he was seeing spooks or something, and rubbed his eyes and jumped up, and Mark says: “Don’t be scairt. We hain’t f-f-figgerin’ on hurtin’ you.” With that both of us got into the room and walked over toward him. He didn’t say a word, but just stared and scowled. “We come to see you on b-b-business,” says Mark, “but they wouldn’t let us in. We had to see you, so here we are.” “I see you’re here,” says he, sharp and savage. “Now let me see you get out again. Quick!” I was ready to turn tail and skedaddle, but not Mark. He walked right over to that president just like he was anybody common and says: “I’m s-sorry, sir, if we b-bother you. But I’ve _got_ to t-talk to you a minute. We can’t get to see anybody, and if we can’t get f-fixed up we are goin’ to bust.” The man scowled worse than ever and took a step toward Mark, but Mark never give back an inch. “I’ll have you thrown out,” says the man. “If you say you won’t t-t-talk to us,” says Mark, “and if you can feel down in your heart that you’re doin’ right, why, we’ll go without b-bein’ thrown. But we was sure that a man couldn’t get to be p-president of a whole railroad unless he was fair and square. That’s why we come right to you. We sort of had confidence, sir, that you was goin’ to see that what was right was done.... But if you don’t feel that way about it, why, we’ll be g-g-goin’ along.” He turned then and went over toward the door. The man didn’t say a word till we were almost there, then he says, “Hold on there!” We stopped. “What do you know about what is fair and what isn’t, or what is good business and what isn’t?” “I may not know much about b-b-business,” says Mark, “but anybody knows what’s f-fair. Here I am—a customer of your railroad just like a man that buys a steak from a b-butcher is a customer of the butcher. If folks wouldn’t use your railroad to send stuff on you would have to go out of b-business. It looks to me like I was doing something you ought to appreciate when I ship a car of freight, and that when I come to see you about railroad b-business, that is goin’ to put m-money into your p-pocket, the least you could do and be fair would be to l-listen. I’m always mighty anxious to keep my customers feelin’ f-f-friendly toward me.” “H’m!” says the president. Mark went on along toward the door and never looked back.