“Can't help it if the whole road's blocked. Get him as quick as you can and call us up. Good-by.” Harvey waited ten minutes, twenty, thirty, thirty-five--then the bell rang. “Hello!” “Yes.” “Not there?” “Wait a minute. You say he took the 4.30?” “All right. Good-by.” Harvey turned back to his desk with a scowl. He passed the next hour clearing up what was left of the day's work; then he went out to dinner, and at 6.45 met Jim Weeks at the Northern Station. “Hello,” said the magnate, “what's up?” “Porter is,” replied Harvey. “I cornered him and McNally with Thompson and Wing, and I think McNally's gone after the Tillman stock.” “I guess not,” Jim smiled indulgently. “They can't touch it. Tell me what you know.” Harvey related his experience, and as one detail followed another Jim's eyebrows came together. He took out his watch and looked at it, then his eye swept the broad row of trains in the gloomy, barnlike station. The hands on the three-sided clock pointed to seven, and the Northern Vestibule Limited began to roll out on its run to Manchester and the West. Suddenly Jim broke in:-- “I'm going to Tillman. Back to-morrow.” He ran down the platform and swung himself, puffing, upon the rear steps of the receding train. Harvey stared a moment, then slowly walked out to the elevated. He had not yet learned to follow the rapid working of Jim Weeks's mind. In the meantime Mr. Porter was nervous. Being unsuccessful in his search for Weeks, and seeing the possibility of failure before him, he greeted the hour of five with a frown; but he realized that there was nothing to be done. McNally was on the field and must fight it out alone. It was a quarter after five when he stepped from the elevator at Field's, and confronted a very reproachful young woman. “Sorry, dear, but I couldn't get away any sooner.” “What was it, dad? That old railroad?” “You wouldn't understand it if I told you.” Katherine frowned prettily. “That's what you always say. Tell me about it.” “Well, it was very important that I should see a man before he saw another one.” “Did you see him?” “No, I couldn't find him.” “Does it mean a loss to you, dad?” “I hope not, dear. But we must get started.” “I thought you never would come. It was lucky that I had company part of the time.” “That's good. Who was it?” “Mr. West.” “Mr. West?--Not Weeks's man--not--” Katherine nodded. Her father looked at her puzzled; then his brow slightly relaxed, and he smiled. “By Jove!” he said softly. Katherine was watching him in some surprise. “Katherine, you are a brick. You shall have the new cart. Yes, sir. I'll order it to-morrow.” “What have I done?” “You've saved the day, my dear.” Suddenly he frowned again. “Hold on; when did you see him?” “I met him about three. I guess he was here an hour or more.” “Couldn't be better! But he must be an awful fool.” Katherine bit her lip. “Why?” she asked quietly.