would come back, the man had known that the picture would come true. The porter had brought in his supper, placing it noiselessly before him on the table, but the president of the road had pushed it from him, leaning a little forward, gazing at the picture that glowed and filled the horizon. He drew his hand hastily across his eyes and the porter moved forward. “Supper, sah.” “Yes--yes.” But he did not stir. His eyes were fixed on the dark window, staring into the night. The porter reached out a hand to draw down the blind, but the president stayed him with a smile. “Let it he, Sam. I am ready now.” He ate with quick, nervous motion, his eyes still on the window. Glimmers of light from the hills struck across it--towns glinted and sparkled and slipped into the night. The eyes followed them eagerly--each gleam of light, each flash of power. It was a new country--_his_ country. It should Be what he chose to make it--a fertile land. The supper had been removed and the porter had set down the box of cigars on the table and withdrawn to his own place. The train rumbled through the night with swift shrieks and long, sliding rushes of sound. The president of the road reached out for a cigar. But the hand that held the lighted match trembled and whirred. He threw it aside, with an impatient sound, and struck another, taking the light with quick, tense puffs. It caught the spark and glowed. He dropped the match upon its tray. There was a look in his eyes that was half fear. He had been a man of iron--but the iron was shaken, shattered.... They threw the worn-out engine on the scrap-heap.... But not yet--Give him a year, two years, to make the dream come true. He saw the country bud and blossom and fling its promise on the air. In the ground he heard the grass grow, creeping. The grain beneath the mold could not move its silken filaments so lightly that his ear did not catch the sound; and from the mountains the ore called, loud and free, knocking against its walls. The mountains opened their great sides, and it poured down into the valleys--wealth for all the world--It should come true.... Time and strength--and John! The cigar had gone out and he tossed it aside, throwing himself on the red cushions and staring at the ceiling that swayed to the swift run of the engine. Then he closed his eyes and the boy’s face was before him, smiling. He slept fitfully. The train rumbled and jarred through his sleep, but always with its song of iron courage. VIII THERE were no dreams in the eyes of the President of the “R. and Q.” road the next morning. The office was a chaos of papers; they lay on the desk and on chairs, and covered the floor. “When John opened the door and stepped in, the president was running distracted fingers through his hair and diving into the chaos. He came up with a grunt. “I wish you’d find that statement the C. B. and L. sent last month--and be quick about it!”