“It's unfortunate, but you can't mix sentiment in a transaction of this sort. I'd like to see them all get their money back, and more, too.” His mental attitude towards the world was one of generous liberality, but he had such excellent control over his impulses that, while he always seemed about to embark in some large philanthropy, he had never been known to take even the first step in that direction. In short, he was hard and unemotional, but with a deceptive, unswerving kindliness of manner, which, while it had probably never involved a dollar of his riches, had at divers times cost the unwary and the indiscreet much money. No man presided at the board meetings of a charity with an air of larger benevolence, and no man drove closer or more conscienceless bargains. His friends knew better than to trust him--a precaution they observed in common with his enemies. “I am sure the road could be put on a paying basis,” said Oakley. “Certain quite possible economies would do that. Of course we can't create business, there is just so much of it, and we get it all as it is. But the shops might be made very profitable. I have secured a good deal of work for them, and I shall secure more. I had intended to propose a number of reforms, but if you are going to sell, why, there's no use of going into the matter--” he paused. The general meditated in silence for a moment. “I'd hate to sacrifice my interests if I thought you could even make the road pay expenses. Now, just what do you intend to do?” “I'll get my order-book and show you what's been done for the shops,” said Oakley, rising with alacrity. “I have figured out the changes, too, and you can see at a glance just what I propose doing.” The road and the shops employed some five hundred men, most of whom had their homes in Antioch. Oakley knew that if the property was sold it would practically wipe the town out of existence. The situation was full of interest for him. If Cornish approved, and told him to go ahead with his reforms, it would be an opportunity such as he had never known. He went into his own room, which opened off Cornish's, and got his order-book and table of figures, which he had carried up from the office that afternoon. They lay on the stand with a pile of trade journals. For the first time in his life he viewed these latter with an unfriendly eye. He thought of Constance Emory, and realized that he should never again read and digest the annual report of the Joint Traffic Managers' Association with the same sense of intellectual fulness it had hitherto given him. No, clearly, that was a pleasure he had outgrown. He had taken a great deal of pains with his figures, and they seemed to satisfy Cornish that the road, if properly managed, was not such a hopeless proposition, after all. Something might be done with it.