“Yes, sir. But the country is like a person to him. I think he loves it. And I know he wants to make up for the harm he’s done it. It would kill him to give up--now.... Two weeks will do it.” “Well--Well. You take the risk, you understand?” “Yes, sir.” The clear eyes met his. The physician’s looked into them with quiet scrutiny. “You ’re very fond of him,” he said. “I love him, sir,” said the young man. “I don’t know why you should,” said the physician. The slow smile met his. “I don’t know, either. I think he needs me.” “I think he does,” said the physician drily, “more than he knows.” XX THE morning of the fifth of October was keen and crisp; a hint of frost lay on the grass and the air was filled with decks of light. It was a beautiful country that the “R. and Q.” passed through--hills and valleys, long stretches of wood and wide sweeps of grain, and slopes where the orchards crept to the sky, the trees gold and green, and burdened with fruit. To the directors of the “R. and Q.,” looking out from their comfortable parlor cars on the trees and fields as they sped toward Bayport, it seemed a land of fatness and dividends. Tetlow would attend to all those trees. He had never failed them since the first day he laid his nervous, wiry hand upon the road; he had wrested the last cent from it; and the road--trees, barns, elevators--jingled into their pockets. They beamed upon the fertile land as they journeyed through, noting the signs of plenty with philanthropic eye.... There had been rumors of trouble, complaints, shortage of cars. What wonder--with branches loaded to the ground, or propped with staves, and the grain bending with its weight. They smiled at each other. They knew their man--a giant--keen-sighted and far-reaching--feared through the country up and down. When he lifted his hand, the little animals scudded to their holes, and lesser men made way for him. If the directors did not put the figure into words, they felt it--through all their comfortable being, as they slid along. Simeon Tetlow--great man-prosperous “R. and Q.”--fortunate directors! They felt it as they took their way to the offices of the “R. and Q.” and seated themselves in the capacious chairs about the green table. Tetlow was a little late--they looked inquiringly toward the door. He was not often late... sometimes hurried and driven, but never late.... Was Simeon Tetlow late! The door opened and he came in with a little flurry, dipping subtly to left and right, in short brusque greeting, and taking his seat. They settled back in their chairs, scarcely noting the short, square young man, a little to the left, who followed in his wake. But when Simeon was seated, the young man remained standing and they took him in with careless glance. Their eyes returned to Tetlow. But he motioned with a slight gesture to the young man and they looked at him again. He stepped forward with a little smile. “President Tetlow cannot speak,” he said.