“H’m, that’s it, now.  But where to lay me finger on the right man.  ’Tis a risk to run—­with a yooung fire-brand like Ford holding the other end iv the string.”

“Still I think the man can be found.  But first we must make sure of your contract, with or without Ford.  Your suggestion about taking the matter up with Mr. Colbrith in person strikes me favorably.  Can you spare the time to go to New York?”

“Sure I can.”

“At once?”

“The wan minute for sthriking is whin the iron’s hot, Misther North.”

The general manager put aside the thick file of papers he had been examining when MacMorrogh entered, and began to set his desk in order.

“I have been thinking I might make it convenient to go with you.  I presume you have no objection to going as my guest in the Naught-Seven?”

“’Tis an honor you’re doing me, Misther North, and I’ll not be forgetting it.”

“Not at all.  There are some matters connected with this contract that I’d like to talk over with you privately, and if we can agree upon them, I may be able to help you with Mr. Colbrith and the executive committee.”

The general manager pressed one of the electric buttons on the side of the desk, and to the clerk who answered gave a brief order:  “Have the Naught-Seven provisioned and made up to go east as a special at twelve-ten to-day.  Tell Despatcher Darby to make the schedule fast—­nineteen hours or less to the River.”

The clerk nodded and disappeared, and North turned again to MacMorrogh.

“Now about that other matter:  I’ll find you a go-between to approach Ford; but to be quite frank with you, you’ll have to be liberal with the young man for his services.  When you go into the diplomatic field, you have to spend money.”  He was pressing another of the electric buttons as he spoke, and to the office boy who put his face in at the door, he said:  “Ask Mr. Eckstein to step in here a minute.”

It was the private secretary, the well-groomed young man with the alien eyes and nose who answered the summons.  North gave him his instructions in a curt sentence.

“Mr. MacMorrogh would like to have a little talk with you, Eckstein:  take him into the other room where you can be undisturbed.”

It was half an hour later when the door of the library opened to readmit the private secretary and the contractor, and in the interval the division superintendent’s clerk had returned to say that the special train schedule was made up, and that the Naught-Seven would be waiting at the Union Station at twelve-ten.

“Well?” said the general manager, lifting a slow eyebrow at MacMorrogh and compressing into the single word his wish to know what had been done in the conference of two.

“’Tis all right, Misther North,” said the contractor, rubbing his hands.  “’Tis a crown jewel ye have in this yooung—­”

North cut the eulogy short in a word to his secretary.