Buffalo is no mean principality in the railroad world--it is near kingdom in itself--miles and miles and still more miles of congested freight yards, tonnage in breath-taking volume rolling in from the wonderful lakes eight months out of the twelve, a nervous traffic that never ceases. For years there reigned in Buffalo, in calm command of the situation for a great railroad system, a man who was entitled by every virtue of the word to be called superintendent. They called him "the lion" and did not misuse that word either. He was a lion, guardian of a great railroad gate, a stern old lion whose word and whose law were unquestioned. But time aged the man, and the day came when the clerks in his outer office began to talk in whispers; they were having the audacity to wonder who the new Prince would be. Two men thought that they were capable--one an assistant superintendent in the great yard at East Buffalo, the other holding similar rank over at Rochester. Each of these men was prepared to assume greater honor, to sit in command at the lion's great desk. That old fellow sat aloof. His ears were not too deaf to hear the whisperings of his clerks in the outer office, and sometimes when one of them would creep in upon him unawares they would find him sitting alone there, head in hands, holding the fort. The two assistant superintendents gained courage; they went to the picayune business of pulling wires. At other times they locked horns. They locked horns over one great question. It was not operation that set them at odds, not a vexing practical question of how some congested yard might be lanced so that traffic should flow the more freely, or a main line section be aided to give a greater daily tonnage. Nothing of that sort for the two ambitious assistants. A new pony inspection engine, with an observation room built forward over the boiler--just the sort that Col. Roosevelt had once used as a reading-room--was to be built for the division, and each assistant thought that he needed that engine for the dignity of his job. Each in turn went before the lion and stated his claims for the possession of the pretty toy. The old man listened with grave dignity. A week later he sent down to the master mechanic at the big Depew shops and had him deliver a brand new hand-car, with his compliments, to each. The pony-engine went into the roundhouse until the real Prince should come. Then he sat long hours alone at his desk once more. Finally they brought a man to him, a fine, upstanding man. The lion rose from his comfy old chair and gave greeting to the newcomer. "I'm glad to see you," was all he said; but to the general manager, who had come up from New York, his eyes seemed to ask: "You've brought the right man here at last?" He turned to the stranger. "Would you like a pony engine to get over the division?" was his question. "I'm willing to go to hell, and go in a caboose," laughed the stranger. The old superintendent grasped him by the hand.