Wheaton accepted the pass as a tribute to his growing prominence in the town. He knew that Porter refused railroad passes on practical grounds, holding that such favors were extended in the hope of reciprocal compliments, and he believed that a banker was better off without them. Wheaton, whose vanity had been touched, could see no harm in them. He had little use for passes as he knew and cared little about traveling, but he had always envied men who carried their "annuals" in little brass-bound books made for the purpose. To be sure it was late in the year and passes were usually sent out in January, but this made the compliment seem much more direct; the Transcontinental had forgotten him, and had thought it well to rectify the error between seasons. He felt that he must not make too much of the railroad's courtesy; he did not know to which official in particular he was indebted, but he ran into Margrave one evening at the club and decided to thank him. "How's traffic?" he asked, as Margrave made room for him on the settee where he sat reading the evening paper. "Fair. Anything new?" "No; it's the same routine with me pretty much all the time." "I guess that's right. I shouldn't think there was much fun in banking. You got to keep the public too far away. I like to be up against people myself." "Banking is hardly a sociable business," said Wheaton. "No; a good banker's got to have cold feet, as the fellow said." "But you railroad people are not considered so very warm," said Wheaton. "The fellows who want favors seem to think so. By the way, I'm much obliged to some one for an annual that turned up in my mail the other day. I don't know who sent it to me,--if it's you--" "Um?" Margrave affected to have been wandering in his thoughts, but this was what he was waiting for. "Oh, I guess that was Wilson. I never fool with the pass business myself; I've got troubles of my own." "I guess I'll not use it very often," said Wheaton, as if he owed an apology to the road for accepting it. "Better come out with me in the car sometime and see the road," Margrave suggested, throwing his newspaper on the table. "I'd like that very much," said Wheaton. "Where's Thompson now? Old man's pretty well done up, ain't he?" "He went back to Arizona. He was here at work all summer. He's afraid of our winters." "Well, that gives you your chance," said Margrave, affably. "There ain't any young man in town that's got a better chance than you have, Jim." "I know that," said Wheaton, humbly. "You don't go in much on the outside, do you? I suppose you don't have much time." "No; I'm held down pretty close; and in a bank you can't go into everything." "Well, there's nothing like keeping an eye out. Good things are not so terribly common these days." Margrave got up and walked the floor once or twice, apparently in a musing humor, but he really wished to look into the adjoining room to make sure they were alone.