The summer crept into autumn; autumn to early winter, bringing with it the transformation of the rickety old Ozark Central to a smooth, well-cushioned line of gleaming steel, where the trains shot to and fro with hardly a tremor, where the hollow thunder of culvert and trestle spoke of sturdy strength, where the trackwalker searched in vain for loose plates or jutting joints; but to Garrity, it was only the fulfilment or the work of a mechanical second nature. December was gliding by in warmth and sunshine. January came, with no more than a hatful of snow, and once more Martin found himself facing the president. "We'll win that contract, Martin!" It almost brought a smile to the superintendent's face. "I've just been over the road--on the quiet. We made eighty miles an hour with hardly a jolt!" "Thankee, sir." A vague sense of joy touched Martin's aching heart--only to depart. "By the way, I noticed when I went through Northport that you've still got that rotary where everybody can see it. I wish you'd move that stuff--behind the roundhouse, out of sight." Then Martin, heavier at heart than ever, went back to Northport. There he said a quaking good-bye to his last hope--and executed the president's orders, trying not to notice the grins of the "goat" crew as they shunted the machinery into hiding. That night, after Jewel was asleep, and the cat outside had ceased yowling, Martin climbed stealthily out of bed and went on his knees, praying with all the fervour of his big being for snow. And the prayer was answered---- By the worst rain that a Missouri January had known in years, scattering the freshly tamped gravel, loosening the piles of trestles, sending Martin forth once more to bawl his orders with the thunder of the old days back at Glen Echo, even to leap side by side with the track labourers, a tamping bar in his big hands, that one more blow might be struck, one more impression made upon the giant task ahead. January slid by; February went into the third week before the job was finished. Martin looked at the sky with hopeful eyes. It was useless. March the first--and Martin went into St. Louis to make his report, and to spend an uneasy, restless night with the president in his room at the hotel. "It's only a few days off now"--they were in bed the next morning, finishing the conversation begun the night before--"and I want you to keep your eyes open every second! The mail marathon agreement reads that no postponement can be made on account of physical or mechanical obstacles. If a trestle should happen to go out--that would be our finish." "I wish"--Martin rolled out of bed and groped for his shoes--"we'd been workin' with me old Blue Ribbon division. I know every foot o' ----"