“Oh, you ’ve tried--you’ve tried. I don’t mean that,” he said testily. “But it’s a case of fitness--the chance of a lifetime,” he repeated significantly. The boy looked at him. “I know it, sir. I’ve thought about it a long time. It ’s hard to do. But, you see, we never have but one father and mother.” The other met it, blinking. “Umph!” “I shall try to get something at the Bridgewater office. I thought perhaps you would recommend me if there was a vacancy.” “There is n’t any,” said Simeon shortly--almost with relief. “The second shipping-clerk left week before last.” “You don’t want that?” “I think I do.” Simeon turned vaguely toward the pigeonholes. The boy’s quick eye was before him. “This is the one, sir.” Simeon smiled grimly. He drew out a blank from its place and filled it in. “You won’t like it,” he said, holding the pen in his teeth while he reached for the blotter. “It ’s heavy lifting, and Simpson ’s no angel to work under. No chance to rise, either.” He was glaring at the boy, a kind of desperate affection growing in his eyes.. The boy returned the look mistily. “You make it a little hard, sir. I wish I could stay.” He half held out his hand and drew it back. Simeon ignored it. He had taken down a ledger and picked a letter from the pile before him. The interview was over. The President of the “R. and Q.” Railroad was not hanging on anybody’s neck. “It ’s the other ledger, sir,” said John quickly, “the farther one.” He reached over and laid it deftly before his employer. Simeon pushed it from him savagely. “Go to the devil!” he said. The boy went, shutting the door quietly behind him. IV IT was six o’clock--the close of a perfect June day. Not even the freight engines, pulling and hauling up and down the yard, with their puffs of black smoke, could darken the sky. Over in the meadow, beyond the network of tracks, the bobolinks had been tumbling and bubbling all day. It was time to close shop now, and they had subsided into the long grass. In the office the assistant shipping-clerk was finishing the last bill of lading. He put it to one side and looked at his watch. A look of relief crossed his face as he replaced it and climbed down from the high stool. It had been a hard day in the Bridge-water freight-office. News had come, in the early morning, of a wreck, three miles down the track--a sleeper and a freight had collided where the road curves by the stonework of the long bridge, and John had been sent down to help in looking after the freight.