“Hang on, my hearties!” shouted Dan. Parker, when he mounted the steps, had given the signal to start, but when the engineer opened his throttle, the wheels of the little engine whirled in a vain attempt at progress. With a grade, a heavy load, and the determined grip of all these brawny hands to contend against, the panting Stump Dodger was beaten. Sparks streamed and the smokestack quivered, but the train did not start. “Speech! Speech!” the men howled. “We won't let go till we hear a speech.” Entreaties had no effect. First Jerrard, then Whittaker, then Parker, and after them all the guests were compelled to come out on the car platform and satisfy the truly American passion for a speech. And not until the last man had responded did the woodsmen release their hold on the trees. “Who ever heard of a railroad being formally opened and dedicated without speeches?” cried Connick, as he gave the word to let go. “We know the style, an' we want everything.” The guides served a lunch at the West Branch end of the line that afternoon, and while the railroad party was lounging in happy restfulness awaiting the repast, a big bateau came sweeping down the river, driven by a half dozen oarsmen. Several passengers disembarked at the end of the carry road, and were received respectfully yet uproariously by the woodsmen who had just arrived in a fresh train-load from the Spinnaker end. Connick came elbowing through the press that surrounded them. “Mr. Shayne,” he cried, “she's come, after all, hasn't she? Are you and your friends goin' to ride back on her across the carry? I tell you she beats a buckboard!” The man whom he addressed smiled with some constraint, and exchanged glances with his companions. “I guess we'll stick to our own tote-team as usual, Connick,” said another in the party, jerking his thumb at the muddy buckboard that was waiting. “Oh say, now, ye've got to meet these here railroad fellers. They're your style--all business!” bawled Connick. “We ain't fit to entertain 'em up here, but you rich fellers are. Just come along. They'll be glad to see you. Bring 'em along, boys.” The crowd obediently hustled the new arrivals toward Whittaker and his friends, disregarding the surly protests. “Here's some of the kings of the spruce country, gentlemen!” big Dan cried, by way of introduction. “Here's Mr. Shayne, the great timber operator on the Seboois waters. Here's Mr. Barber of the Upper Chamberlain, an'--” Several of the new arrivals began to deprecate this unceremonious manner of introduction, but the railroad men, recognizing their peers in the business world in these sturdy land barons, came forward with a hearty welcome. Ten minutes later the timber kings were eating lunch, although with some embarrassment. Occasionally they eyed the railroad men, wondering if the memory of the stubborn legislative battle still lingered. But the railroad men constantly grew more affable.