The burly engineer laughed again.

“You have a geniusful way of putting your finger on the sore spot without fumbling.  We all dislike Mr. North at this end of things—­with reason.”

“And that reason is?”

“That he’d fire the entire engineering department if he could find half an excuse.  I’m afraid he’s going to do it, too, in the most effectual way—­by forcing Mr. Ford out.  If Ford goes, every man in the department will quit with him.  I’m afraid it’s coming to that.”

Johnson, the porter, had lighted the Pintsch globes and was laying the covers for dinner.

“Make it two, Johnson,” said Adair; and, then to Leckhard:  “You dine with me—­don’t say no; I couldn’t stand it alone.”  And when that point was settled:  “Now, sit down till we thresh, this out a bit finer.  How far has this forcing business gone?  You’re talking to the man who has backed Ford from the first.”

“It has gone pretty far.  North has obstructed, quietly but persistently, ever since the first blow was struck on the extension.  He has delayed material, when he could do it unofficially, he scants us for rolling stock and motive power, he stands in with the MacMorroghs and backs them against Ford every time there is a dispute.  Ford is a patient man, Mr. Adair, but I think he has about reached the limit.”

“H’m.  Do you attach any particular importance to the president’s trip over the extension?”

Leckhard shook his head.  “I’m only a passenger—­I see what goes by the car-windows.  Mr. Colbrith was dead set on pushing over to the end-of-track—­wouldn’t even wait for daylight.  You probably know him better than I do—­”

“He is my uncle,” Adair cut in.

“Oh; then I can’t tell you anything about him.  He was hot at Ford last night; what for I don’t know, unless it was because Ford opposed a night run over a raw construction track with the Nadia.  He was right about that, though.  If I had been in his place I would have thrown up my job before I would have taken the risk.”

Adair appeared to be considering something, and when he had thought it out, the porter had announced dinner and they had taken their places at the table.

“I have told you I am Ford’s friend, Mr. Leckhard; I have ridden a couple of thousand miles out of my way to give him a lift.  Tell me frankly; have you any reason to believe it will come to blows between him and the president while they are together at the front?—­Try this celery; it’s as good as you’d get at Sherry’s.”

Leckhard helped himself to the relish, and waited until the negro, Johnson, had gone back to the cook’s galley.

“The little I know comes in a roundabout way,” he replied slowly.  “Penfield, who is known all over the Southwestern as Mr. North’s private detective and spy, is with Mr. Colbrith acting as the president’s secretary.  Yesterday, while the Nadia was side-tracked here, Penfield had a lot of telegraphing to do for Mr. Colbrith.  He did it himself—­he’s a lightning operator, among other things—­and I happened into the office just as he was finishing.  His final message was a cipher, to Mr. North, and he signed it with his own name.”