The idea startled Paul. Leave Jackson! It was one thing for Dr. Ryland to go away, or the Lamar boys, or even Judge Roscoe Little and Borden Crenshaw. They were comparative newcomers; the earliest Crenshaw dated back only sixty years. But the Judsons were a Jackson fixture: his place was here. His black eyes clouded uncertainly; at that, he might invest a little.... The other's words continued; "... chance of a lifetime. It's big!" "When can we look it over?" A spurt of eagerness spoke in the tone. "Come up next week.... Bring Mrs. Judson?" "I doubt if she could make it." "You'll come?" "Ye-es. I may bring the eldest boy." After dinner he told Mary of the conversation. "We couldn't pull up stakes, I'm afraid. Anyway, Pelham will enjoy the trip. How about it, son?" "Oh, father!" The bright-eyed face was expressive enough. Her consent was assumed, Mary noticed, as had been her husband's custom for the last few years. He did not tell her how his mind kept recurring to the other suggestion that Guild had made. If he were ever to leave Jackson, the time had come. The state capital stood still. Adamsville, founded since the war, already crowded New Orleans as the commercial center of the gulf region. Judge Little had moved his law office there; at least a dozen prominent Jacksonians were prospering in the iron city. The iron city! He could find room to stretch his visions there! Nathaniel Guild stayed over and made the trip with the two Judsons. It was a tiresome journey for all of them; at length, his attention worn out with the dizzying panorama of the sunset hills, the boy's head nodded forward on his hands, his eyes closed, his breathing became deep and regular. Some time later, the father reached over and shook the sleeping boy kindly by the shoulder. "Wake up, Pelham,--Adamsville!" The tired child straightened quickly, showering a drizzle of cooled cinders from Paul's linen duster, tucked around him. "Are we there?" "Just about.... I'm afraid it's too dark to see the mountain. These are the furnace yards.... Watch for the coke ovens!" Pelham needed no urging. The train was slowing. The heavy coaches bumped over uneven places in the roadbed. There was a subdued hissing scream where wheel met track. At first he could make out nothing through the window. The light from the smelly kerosene lamps above fell on the dull sides of freight cars; he could see only a vague darkness between them. Abruptly the string of cars ended. Beyond a wide open space he saw sinister black buildings, grotesque, bulging with vast tanks. Above, a trellis-work of ladders ended in ungainly smokestacks that crowded the sky. Suddenly a burst of flame, a piercing tongue of reds and yellows, broke from the top of one of the wider tanks. Dense smoke and steam shot out. The whole yard was washed in a red glare. "Charging the furnace," Paul said. He was as thrilled as his son at the sight.