This time the conductor of No. 8 spoke short and sharp, and Bowen went to him. “Now, look here, Jack,” began the conductor of the snow-bound train, “if you don’t stop stuffing that old gentleman I swear I’ll report you when I get to Salida.” “Who’s stuffin’ ’im?” “That’s all right, you lie to your own people--let my passengers alone.” Jack went back to his prey. “I hope,” said the gray-haired voyager, “that this young man will not get us into any trouble.” “Oh! not a bit of it, not a bit of it; I have explained everything to him, and he won’t forget. Now, you’d never dream it,” he went on, turning and walking beside the handsome woman, “but that young fellow McGuire’s a nobleman.” “You don’t tell me?” “Yes, I do, an’ what’s more to the point, it’s true. Look at him. You don’t suppose a young fellow like that would be in charge of a main line express train ’less he had a pull.” “A what?” “’Less he cut ice elsewhere,” said the conductor. “I tell you that comedian stands to win out a throne some day. His father was Irish, of course, but his mother was French. She could chase herself right back to the old rock and rye family, the Bourbins, I think they were called. His grandfather lived with a man called Louie Sais on a ranch called Ver Sigh, a little way out of Paris. The old man was a sort of a chum of the Louis, called ‘The Gentleman of the Sleeping Car’ or something like that,--he was a big hole at Ver Sigh, was this boy’s Grand Pare.” “Allabo a-r-d,” said McGuire in the middle of his career. The old gentleman bowed stiffly to Bowen, the young lady smiled sweetly, and stepped into the Pullman. When McGuire came through the car taking up tickets after leaving Montrose, he found Miss Landon alone. She lifted her eyes,--sunny eyes, they were, that seemed to mock him and the blinding storm through which they were now rolling away up the long, even grade that made a mighty approach to the mountain. She held her glance upon his burning face for the briefest space, but when he passed on he could still feel the warmth of her eyes, like the waves of lingering sunshine through which you pass when you are walking in a summer twilight. When he had finished his work the conductor returned to the smoking-room of the sleeper, but found after a moment’s stay that the air was vile, the place stuffy, and he went forward to the day coach. As he passed through the forward sleeper he noticed that Miss Landon was still alone. She had her back to him, but as he came up the aisle the swing of the car on a short curve caused him to steady himself upon the end of her section. At the same moment and for the same reason she put an ungloved hand out to clasp the edge of the narrow seat, and it fell, soft as a snowflake, warm as a sunbeam, and soundless as a shadow, upon the hand of McGuire.