Then he turned to look at as much of his grandfather’s face as he could discern between cap-brim and collar.  The eagle eyes beneath their heavy brows were gazing straight ahead, the firmly moulded lips were close-set, the whole profile, with its large but well-cut nose, suggested grim endurance.  Matthew Kendrick had made no remonstrance, nor did he now complain, but Richard understood.

“You didn’t like that, did you, grandfather?  I had no business to do it, when I said I wouldn’t.  Did I chill you, sir?  I’m sorry,” was his quick apology.

“You didn’t chill my body, Dick,” was the response.  “You did make me realize the difference between—­youth and age.”

“That’s not what I ever want to do,” declared the young man, with swift compunction.  “Not when your age is worth a million times my youth, in knowledge and power.  And of course I’m showing up a particularly unfortunate trait of youth—­to lose its head!  Somehow all the boy in me comes to the top when I see that track over there, even when there’s no competing train.  Did you ever know a boy who didn’t want to be an engine driver?”

“I was a boy once,” said Matthew Kendrick.  “Trains in my day were doing well when they made twenty-five miles an hour.  I shouldn’t mind your racing with one of those.”

“I’m racing with one of the fastest engines ever built when I set up a store in Eastman and try to appropriate some of your methods.  I wonder what you’ll think of it?” said Richard gayly.  “Well, here’s the bad stretch.  Sit tight, grandfather.  I’ll pick out the best footing there is, but we may jolt about a good bit.  I’m going to try what can be done to get these fellows to put a bottom under their spring mud!”

When the town was reached Richard convoyed his companion straight to the best hotel, saw that he had a comfortable chair and as appetizing a meal as the house could afford, and let him rest for as long a time afterward as he himself could brook waiting.  When Mr. Kendrick professed himself in trim for whatever might come next Richard set out with him for the short walk to the store of Benson & Company.

The young man’s heart was beating with surprising rapidity as the two approached the front of the brick building which represented his present venture into the business world.  He knew just how keen an eye was to inspect the place, and what thorough knowledge was to pass judgment upon it.

“Here we are,” he said abruptly, with an effort to speak lightly.  “These are our front windows.  Carson dresses them himself.  He seems a wonder to me—­I can’t get hold of it at all.  Rather a good effect, don’t you think?”

He was distinctly nervous, and he could not conceal it, as Matthew Kendrick turned to look at the front of the building, taking it all in, it seemed, with one sweeping glance which dwelt only for a minute apiece on the two big windows, and then turned to the entrance, above which hung the signs, old and new.  The visitor made no comment, only nodded, and made straight for the door.