This was a new experience for him and he was considerably the more confused of the two. “Sure thing,” answered Nixon, bluntly. “Well, I’ll see if I can convince you. Bassett was drunk, he was insolent to his superior officer; to reinstate him would mean the end of discipline on this line. His offence falls clearly under rule forty-three, which says that no employee of the road, on duty or off, shall frequent saloons. In violating that rule, he laid himself liable to discharge and discharged he was. He also violated rule sixty-one, which says that insolence to a superior officer may be punished by dismissal, at the discretion of the train master. The train master exercised his discretion and dismissed him. When Bassett was employed by the road he was given a copy of the rules and knew that he must obey them if he wanted to hold his job. He disobeyed them, and lost it—so he’s got nobody to blame but himself. That’s our position. Don’t you think it’s a pretty strong one?” “Yes,” agreed Nixon, slowly, “it looks pretty strong,” but he was plainly waiting for something that was still to come. “By the way,” continued Mr. Schofield, opening a drawer of his desk. “After you left the other day, I found this package on the floor,” and he took from the drawer a little packet, carefully wrapped and sealed, and laid it on his desk. “It doesn’t belong to anyone around here, and I thought maybe you’d dropped it.” “Let’s see it,” said Nixon, and took it with eager fingers. He ripped open the seal and drew out a little bundle of paper currency. He ran through it rapidly and found it to consist of ten one hundred dollar bills. “Yes,” he said, slipping them into an inside pocket. “It’s mine. I’d been wondering what had become of it.” “And you’re convinced?” “Perfectly, I’ll report against Bassett.” “When?” Nixon glanced at his watch and started to his feet. “Right away,” he said. “The meeting’s called for ten-thirty. I’ll just have time to get there.” He picked up hat and overcoat and started for the door. Mr. Schofield, his finger hovering over an electric button, watched him with a perplexed pucker of the forehead. Then his face cleared, and he took his hand away from the button. “Well, good-bye,” he said. “I’m glad we could settle it so easily.” “Oh, nobody never has no trouble with me,” said Nixon, “if they talk business,” and he opened the door and closed it after him. Two men, who—so a single glance told him—were not railroad men, were standing just across the hall, looking out of a window. They glanced around, as he came out, but made no effort to molest him, and he hurried away, the packet in his inside pocket pressing against his breast with a most reassuring warmth. And just as he disappeared down the stairs, the door of Mr. Schofield’s room opened and the two strangers were called hastily inside. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XIII