“I was with President Tetlow then,” said John. “I came about four years ago. During the last year I ’ve been off for a while.--My mother was ill.” “Mother was ill?” He whistled softly between his teeth. It might, after all, be good luck that Tetlow was away. This simple youth would reveal more in half an hour than Simeon would let out in a week. He would win his confidence. He settled back a little in the chair. “Tetlow a hard man to work for?” he asked casually. John’s smile answered his, “I guess everybody thinks so,” he said. The man nodded. “I guess so.--They say he ’s a good deal broken, though--works too hard?” “He works harder than any man I ever saw,” replied John. “Begins to tell on him, don’t it?” The man seemed to be watching a fly on the window. “You mean--?” John’s face expressed slow interest. “I mean he ’s about used up,” said the manager, flashing a look at him. John shook his head, and the slow smile grew in his face. “You _think_ he ’s used up and then you find--he is n’t. That’s the kind of man President Tetlow is.” The manager gave a dry smile. “I’ve noticed that ’s the kind he is, myself.” He turned suddenly, his eyes boring into the young man. “What ’s all this bother about rates this year!” he asked. “Don’t he know the roads can’t stand it?” “He thinks the country can’t stand it,” said John. “The country!” The man stared at him, moistening his lips a little with his tongue. He shook his head. “Never heard of the country before,” he said. John smiled. “President Tetlow wants to make the ‘R. and Q.’ a benefit to the region.” The man sat back in his chair. He spread his legs a little. Then he opened his mouth. He laughed. There was affectation in the laugh, perhaps, but beneath it was solid amusement and scorn. “Sim Tetlow--philanthropist!” He shook his head,--“Look out for him!” he said. “You think he don’t mean it, sir!” said John. “I think he don’t mean it,” said the big man. John’s clear eyes looked into the small, fat ones and the man stirred a little in his chair and sat up. “Do you believe it?” he asked. “I know it,” said John. “He does n’t start out on things he can’t carry through.” “That ’s right,” muttered the man. His face was thoughtful. “He’s always run the road before for the corporation. He’s running it now for everybody.” “Well, it ’s beyond me.--_I_ don’t make money for everybody.” He seemed to be digesting it. The young man had taken up some papers from the desk. “President Tetlow wanted me to ask you about these,” he said. “What are they!” The man swung his eyeglasses to his nose and held out his hand. “They are affidavits.... about those harvesters....” “Oh!” The manager sank back a little. He took off the glasses, tapping the table with them. “Well!” “He wanted me to ask what you are going to do about it,” said John. “What does he expect we ’ll do?” it was smooth and non-committal. John consulted the paper. “He expects you ’ll pay for them.”