Young Van looked at his chief and saw that the faintest of twinkles was in his eyes. He glanced over his shoulder and made out that De Reamer had paused in his conversation with Mr. Chambers, and was listening to catch Carhart’s reply. For himself, Young Van was blazing with anger that this man, who had in his eyes fairly dragged De Reamer through to a successful termination of the fight, should be robbed of what seemed to him the real reward. He had still something to learn of the way of the world, and everything to learn of the way of Wall Street. Then he heard Carhart replying:-- “You must ask Mr. De Reamer about that. He directs the policy of the Sherman and Western.” And at this the president of the melancholy visage, and with him his vice-president, passed on out of earshot. “Mr. Carhart,”--the reporters were still at it,--“one of your assistants, J. B. Flint, was carried on a cot the other day to the C. & S. C. station and put on a train. What was the matter with him?” Carhart hesitated. Personally he cared not at all whether the facts were or were not given to the public. He felt little pleasure in lying about them. Engineers as a class do not lie very well. But he was doing the work of the Sherman and Western, and the Sherman and Western, for a mixture of reasons, wished the facts covered. And then, somewhat to his relief, the youngest reporter in the group blundered out the question which let him off with half a lie. “Is it true, Mr. Carhart,” asked this reporter, “that Mr. Flint has been really an invalid for years?” “Yes,” Carhart replied cheerfully, “it is true.” The party seemed to be breaking up. Tiffany caught Young Van’s eye, and beckoned. “Come on!” he called--“the Dinner!” “They are starting, Mr. Carhart,” said Young Van. “Are they? All right.--That’s all, boys. You can say, with perfect truth, that the Sherman and Western has been completed to Red Hills.” “And that the H. D. & W. hasn’t,” cried the youngest reporter. Carhart laughed. “The H. D. & W. will have to do its own talking,” he replied. “But they aren’t doing any.” “Can’t help that,” said Carhart. “No more--no more!” And with Young Van he walked off toward the Frisco. * * * * * After the dinner the party broke up. Flint and Haddon went West with the Chicago and Southern California officials. The others, who were to start eastward in the late evening, rode off for a shoot on the plains. And it fell out that Carhart and Young Van, who had, from different motives, declined the ride, were left together at the hotel. “What are you going to do now, Gus?” asked the chief. Young Van hesitated, then gave way to a nervous smile. Carhart glanced keenly at him, and observed that he had lost color and that the pupils of his eyes were dilated. Now that the strain was over he was himself conscious of a severe physical let-down, and he was not surprised to learn that his assistant was completely unstrung.