Superintendent Oborne had great economic ideas. He spent quite a time in ascertaining whether two short whistles from a locomotive were not cheaper than one long one. He noticed one day that a lot of coal was dropped off the tenders between Winnipeg and Brandon, and instructed his assistant, Ed. James, to have it gathered up. Of course, Ed. strictly followed instructions, and a week later was asked how it was progressing. “Fine,” said Ed., “we’ve picked up two tons already, and are still picking.” “Splendid,” encouragingly replied the boss. “And how much is it costing?” “$65.00 a ton.” As coal was then laid down at Winnipeg at $4.50 a ton, the collection of black diamonds was instantly discontinued. Gate-Keeper, I Hope, in Both Worlds. Constable Richards, head-gateman in the castellated stone structure of the C.P.R. at Windsor Street Station, Montreal, was everybody’s friend. A large sized, well-built, active man, for many years he more than satisfactorily fulfilled his onerous duties, until at a ripe age he passed away mourned by all who knew him. He was an Englishman first and last, and on St. George’s Day, it was for years a great pleasure for me to pin a red rose on his manly breast. One time, I was away in Los Angeles, and didn’t remember that England’s patron saint’s day was on the morrow. But I did think of it in time, and wired to N. S. Dunlop, who was then in charge of the company’s floral department, to send Mr. Richards a rose with my best wishes. When I returned home a fortnight or so later, Constable Richards was on duty at the gate, and when he saw me, he grasped my hand, shook it heartily, and exclaimed: “I knew wherever you were, you wouldn’t forget my rose. It came all right, but how could you send it by wireless?” N. S. D. had put on my card, “By wireless from Los Angeles.” * * * * * My old friend honestly believed that the C.P.R. was the only railway in the world and Lord Shaughnessy the greatest man. One time in rearranging increases of salaries, he had been overlooked on account of having passed the age limit, and it was only when Lord Shaughnessy returned home and greeted him at the gate that he had an opportunity of airing his grievance. He told the Baron the case, and the next day was rejoiced to find that he had received a substantial increase and the back pay, which he never knew came from the Chief’s own pocket. * * * * * If Constable Richards is assistant to St. Peter as guardian of the gate, I will take my chances on getting in without any difficulty whatever, and will hear his cheery voice resounding through whatever is up there: “Hey, you fellows, make way for the Colonel.” Don’t Own the Alphabet.