The president’s eyes rested on the dull face for a long minute. His hand, holding the paper, had ceased to tremble. He was resting in the strength of this body, short and sturdy and full of willing life. No one knew what that stubby-fingered boy had meant to him--what plans for the future had been cut off. The boy was to have been closer than a partner for him, closer than his own body, through the years. He was to have lived with him--shared his fortune, good and bad.... No one had guessed. He himself had not quite known--until, one day, the door closed behind the boy and he found himself sitting before a desk, trying with trembling fingers to make an entry in the ledger.... He had worried along since then as best he could.... And now he was sitting in the quiet car with the boy opposite him. The freight outside was pulling away with slow, disturbed puffs. The low sun shone through the car, and a glow of red plush lifted itself about them and filled the car with clear, rosy light. The boy looked up. His eyes met the watching ones, and a quick light flashed into them, touching the lamps of service to flame. “This is the next one, sir.” He looked down again at the papers and held one out. The president pushed it aside with a touch. His eyes searched the boy’s face. “Tell me what happened--just now!” “Just now--!” The boy looked up, waiting, his lips half apart. The president nodded. “You know--When we stopped--What was wrong!” The boy waited a minute. “No. 39 had your track,” he said at last, quietly. “She’s gone now. That’s her whistle--up the yard.” He turned his head a little. The president’s eyes still scanned the dull face. “And you changed the switch!” “Yes, sir.” The president pushed the papers farther from him, making a place for both arms on the table. He leaned forward a little. “So that’s what you left me for?” The boy looked up, startled. “What, sir!” The president nodded slowly. “To turn a switch, I suppose--” The thin hand lifted to his lips was trembling now as a leaf quivers at a sudden wind. “Some one else would have seen,” said the boy quickly. “Nobody sees--but you.” He crunched out the words. “When are you coming back?” “Back!” “To the office--I need you.” He gulped a little over the words. He had never said as much to any one. The lamps, with their still glow, were turned toward him. “I want to come, sir.” “Well?” “We talked it over last night--She wants me to do it--She will come with me--But--” The president of the road was looking down now--waiting. The boy’s eyes studied the worn face with its wrinkles, the thin, hard lips and stern lines. Something in it made his heart suddenly go from him. “I think I’m coming, sir,” he said simply. The face did not look up. It worked strangely for a moment. Then it dropped in the folded arms on the table and rested there. The boy fell to sorting the telegrams.