The grim situation on the "booze division" grew much worse. The president of that system gave the matter his keen personal attention; he began scouring the entire width of the land for material, without much success. When he was thoroughly discouraged, a raw-boned trainmaster from a far corner of the demoralized division applied for the job of superintendent; he reckoned he could handle the situation. He had caught the president unawares standing outside of his private car. The president told him that he was superintendent. "There was something in Matt's eye that took me," he confessed afterwards. "You do see something in a man's eye now and then that beats a whole barrel of references." So Matt Jones (that is nothing like his real name), took up the nastiest operating proposition in the country. He did not lecture nor discharge, not he; but the men knew that there was a boss behind the super's desk. The fellows who began trifling with the new broom were down in his office the next morning. Jones selected the leading spirit; he had the advantage of knowing him. "Pete," he said in a quiet way, "you've been drinking. It doesn't go. I'm not going to discharge you,"--he gave grim thought to the fate of his predecessor--"but in thirty days you are going to send in your resignation voluntarily and leave our service." The man protested. He had not been drinking; and Matt Jones had better not try that game anyway. The superintendent wished him a pleasant good-morning and bowed him out of the office. In five days the engineer was back, uncalled. The superintendent saw him, even though he had no more to say than he had not been drinking; that is, he had quit drinking long ago. In ten days he was back again. This time he admitted that he had been drinking up to the day that Matt Jones took office. The superintendent said nothing. He bowed the engineer out again. A month is a short thing at the best. At the end of the twenty-second day, the engineer again found his way to the superintendent's office. He seemed like a man who had been through a sickness. Big human that he was, he began crying at the sight of the man who was a real boss. "For God's sake, Matt, don't forget the old days up on the branch. I can't get out from the old road," he said. "I gave you thirty days' chance to get on another road," was all the satisfaction that he got. But on the thirtieth day the engineer went to work with a clean envelope and the new superintendent had an ally of no mean strength. The patient grinding won; complete victory was only a question of time; the president five hundred miles away began to notice. You may say what you want, railroad executives are born, not made. This reads like romance, but it is truth. Matt Jones is to-day general manager of that system, and a little while ago a New York paper said he was going to take charge of one of the big transcontinental that needs a firm hand at its reins.