Tanned to a seasoned brown, and looking as vigorous as a lusty pine tree, Waldron shook hands warmly.

But before Julius had more than begun his expressions of pleasure at seeing his friend again so unexpectedly Waldron turned and indicated a young man’s figure in a wheelchair.  “That’s my friend and associate engineer, Hackett, over there.  He’s had a very bad illness and I’m taking him home.  We’ll go over and speak to him in a minute.  Meanwhile, I shall have to talk fast.  First—­is your sister Dorothy well?” The direct gaze had in it no apology for speaking thus abruptly.

“Fine,” Julius assured him.  “Haven’t you heard from her lately?”

“Not since I sailed—­naturally—­nor for a fortnight before that.  I came away very unexpectedly, sooner than I should have done but for Hackett, who needed to get home.  But the trip combines that errand with a lot of business—­seeing the Company directors, consulting with the firm, looking up machinery and getting it shipped back with me on the next boat.  I haven’t an hour to spare anywhere but on this flying trip to Hackett’s home, which will take twenty-four hours, and I shall have to work night and day.  And—­I want to see your sister.”

Again the direct look, accompanied this time, by a smile which was like a sudden flash of sunshine, as Julius well remembered.  Waldron did not smile too often, but when he did smile—­well, one wanted to do what he asked.

“Does she know?” Julius demanded.

“Not a word; there was no way to let her know except to cable, and I—­have no right to send her cable orders—­or requests.  Broughton, as I figure it out, I have just one chance to see her, and that only with your cooperation—­and hers.  I don’t believe I need explain to you that it seems to me I must see her; going back without it is unthinkable.  I don’t know when I may be North again.  Yet I can’t neglect Hackett or my duty to the Company.”

“Then—­how the dickens—­”

“I shall be coming back on the train that reaches this station at two o’clock Saturday morning.  It will go through your home city at midnight.  Would it be possible for you and Miss Dorothy to take that train when it leaves Boston Friday night, and so give me the time between there and your station?”

Julius Broughton, born plotter and situation maker as he was, rose to the occasion gallantly.  It tickled him immensely, the whole idea.  He spent five seconds in consideration, his eye fixed on the lapel of Waldron’s coat; then he spoke: 

“Leave it to me.  I’ll have to figure it out how to get around Dot.  You mustn’t think she’s going to jump at the chance of going to meet a man instead of having him come to meet her.  She’s used to having the men do the travelling, you know, while she stays at home and forgets they’re coming.”

“I know.  And you know—­and I think she knows also—­that only necessity would make me venture to ask such a favour.”