But Zeph had disappeared right after Ralph’s last interview with him and, day or night, the train dispatcher had seen no sign of the fellow. He was so troubled over the night schedules, however, that every evening he went downtown again after supper. “I never knew you to be so particular about your dispatching, Ralph,” his mother complained. “Do you really expect trouble?” “I’ll tell you, Mother,” he said, trying to smile. “When we have to crowd the trains so close I naturally feel anxiety. I’ve got good men on the job. But some night I expect that Midnight Flyer or some other important train to stall and ball up the entire schedule. “These wheat trains clutter up the east-bound tracks all night long. We have had two breakdowns within forty-eight hours this week. The yard was not cleared of west-bound freight this morning until nine o’clock. We’re in a mess!” “But they cannot hold you responsible for any of the trouble,” his mother declared loyally. “I don’t know. The way the super looks at me when we meet—— Humph! But of course, Mother, I feel responsibility. I want the trains to get in and out on time. The reports going back to main headquarters aren’t encouraging. Although Mr. Glidden is mighty nice about it.” “He would be,” declared Mrs. Fairbanks. “He understands.” Just the same, her confidence did not greatly encourage Ralph. The day schedule did not much trouble him, but at night it grew worse and worse. As he had feared, with the increased number of wheat trains trying to get through, there being a big movement of grain to Europe at this time, most other freight was side-tracked. The passenger trains, too, were displaced. Two mornings in succession the Midnight Flyer got to Hammerfest so late that the Boise City connection was lost. Passengers had to wait two hours. Yet the train could not be started earlier than midnight from Rockton because the connection from the east could not be made. “Old Byron Marks is a has-been,” the master mechanic said to Ralph on one occasion. “But what can _I_ do? It is out of my hands. The old man can’t make the time, and he knows it. But he doesn’t want to fall down on the run, either. You know what that would mean.” “It would give the super a chance to demand his withdrawal,” said Ralph. “You bet. And Bart Hopkins is only waiting for that. If he had his way, and if it wasn’t for the Brotherhoods, he’d scrap every man with gray hair on the division.” “Can’t anybody talk with Byron and show him how to get out gracefully?” “He’s as touchy as a hen with a brood of chicks. I’d like to send him back to a switch engine. We need on that Flyer somebody like you, Ralph. Yes, sir, it’s a run that calls for young blood!” But Ralph raised both hands and gestured him away from his desk. “No, no! Tempt me not!” he cried. “Haven’t I trouble enough of my own right here and now?”