Two hours later the Gloucester man was handing a carefully prepared “interview” to the reporters. Mr. Thomas McGuire, the brilliant young manager, who was a personal friend of Mr. Landon’s, would be the next President of the Inter-Mountain Air Line. This arrangement, while tacitly understood beforehand, had been definitely agreed to at a conference between Mr. Landon and his friend and former partner, who would represent the injured man at the meeting to-morrow. CHAPTER XXIII THE MAID OF ERIN “YOU sent for me?” asked the General Manager of the Vandalia. “Yes,” said the President. “You remember Tom McGuire?” “Is he the fellow that rode a mule into the White Mail one morning at West Silver Creek?” “The same freckled Thomas.” “Well, I can’t say that I remember him, for I have never seen him; but I have not had an opportunity to forget the story of his having saved a couple of trains for the company. Every time I go down the Line someone reminds me of his heroism. It got to that pass that when I heard the car hit the East Bridge I looked up. In would come this man’s father, who is now roadmaster on the west end, and say, ‘There’s phare Tommy--’ and if I happened to be alone the conductor would break the great news to me, until I am sick of the story.” “Well,” said the President, “this Thomas is coming over the road to-day. He has just been re-elected President and General Manager of the Inter-Mountain Air Line. He is bringing a wife with him; the daughter of one of the directors, and I want to arrange a little surprise for him.” “That means a special train, I suppose?” “No, that would not surprise him, for they are running him special over the Pennsylvania. Do you think we could make time with his car on the White Mail?” “Well, we can try it. I’ll wire Sedgwick to give us the best engines on the road. It will please him, I dare say, to ride down on the White Mail.” “Please him! why the Van will get all the business that originates on the Inter-Mountain for the next hundred years.” “Shall you meet him at the train?” “Ah, yes. We’re very good friends; he did his first work for me when I was general passenger agent.” An hour later the office boy handed a piece of white paper to the Trainmaster, upon which was written: “Put President McGuire’s car, ‘Maid of Erin,’ on the White Mail to-night. G. M.” “Who gave you this, boy?” “G. M.” “Himself?” “That same.” “Well, you take this back and ask him if he means the Night Express.” Presently the boy came back, stopped in front of the Trainmaster’s desk, and startled the office by reading aloud: “Trainmaster, St. Louis, Vandalia, Terre Haute and Indianapolis Railroad, Indianapolis:-- Put President McGuire’s car, ‘Maid of Erin’ on the White Mail to-night. G. M.” “Who told you to read that?” shouted the indignant Trainmaster.