Naturally the office had been the least bit skeptical concerning Oakley and his capabilities, but within a week a change was patent to every one connected with the road: the trains began to regard their schedules, and the slackness and unthrift in the yards gave place to an ordered prosperity. Without any apparent effort he found work for the shops, a few extra men even were taken on, and there was no hint as yet of half-time for the summer months. He was a broad-shouldered, long-limbed, energetic young fellow, with frank blue eyes that looked one squarely in the face. Men liked him because he was straightforward, alert, and able, with an indefinite personal charm that lifted him out of the ordinary. These were the qualities Cornish had recognized when he put him in control of his interests at Antioch, and Oakley, who enjoyed hard work, had earned his salary several times over and was really doing wonders. He put down his pipe, which was smoked out, and glanced at the clock. “What's the matter with that boy?” he muttered. The matter was that Clarence had concluded to take a brief vacation. After leaving the post-office he skirted a vacant lot and retired behind his father's red barn, where he applied himself diligently to the fragment of a cigarette that earlier in the day McClintock, to his great scandal, had discovered him smoking in the solitude of an empty box-car in the yards. The master mechanic, who had boys of his own, had called him a runty little cuss, and had sent him flying up the tracks with a volley of bad words ringing in his ears. When the cigarette was finished, the urchin bethought him of the purpose of his errand. This so worked upon his fears that he bolted for the office with all the speed of his short legs. As he ran he promised himself, emotionally, that “the boss” was likely to “skin” him. But whatever his fears, he dashed into Oakley's presence, panting and in hot haste. “Just two letters for you, Mr. Oakley!” he gasped. “That was all there was!” He went over to the superintendent and handed him the letters. Oakley observed him critically and with a dry smile. For an instant the boy hung his head sheepishly, then his face brightened. “It's an awfully wet day; it's just sopping!” Oakley waived this bit of gratuitous information. “Did you run all the way?” “Yep, every step,” with the impudent mendacity that comes of long practice. “It's rather curious you didn't get back sooner.” Clarence looked at the clock. “Was I gone long? It didn't seem long to me,” he added, with a candor he intended should disarm criticism. “Only a little over half an hour, Clarence.” The superintendent sniffed suspiciously. “McClintock says he caught you smoking a cigarette to-day--how about it?” “Cubebs,” in a faint voice. The superintendent sniffed again and scrutinized the boy's hands, which rested on the corner of his desk. “What's that on your fingers?” Clarence considered.