“The bridge was not gone, sir, and the train passed over in safety.  The tramp had lied to us.”

“And you had your dangerous ride for nothing?”

“Yes, sir, unless you could consider a notice to quit work a reward.  Mr. Gammon accused Mr. Baxter of being intoxicated, and said we had got caught on the track to tell that story to get out of a bad scrape.  I knew it was useless to talk with him, so I have come to you.”

“What sort of a job do you want?” asked General Lyons, showing by his tone that he had not been displeased by the boy’s story.

“Anything that is honest, sir, and will give me fair wages, with a chance to rise.”

“So you have an eye to the future.  Perhaps you hope to have the management of a road yourself some time.”

“It shall be no fault of mine, sir, if I do not.”

“Nobly said, my boy; and it is possible you hope to be superintendent of the Pen Yan.”

“I mean to do my best for it, sir.”  And then, as if frightened by the boldness of his speech, he added, “I only meant to say I am going to do my duty.”

“And if you stick to that purpose as faithfully as I think you will, success will at last crown your efforts.  I will speak to Mr. Minturn of you and he will doubtless give you a situation.  Good-day.”

The superintendent turned back to his business problems, and the others in the room followed the example of their chief, disappointed at the sudden termination of the interview.

The boy, however, seemed loth to leave.  He started away, went a few steps and paused.

Then coming back to the railing, he said, with less firmness than formerly: 

“If you, please, sir, I had rather you would not leave my case in Mr. Minturn’s hands.”

“So Mr. Minturn knows you?” asked the railroad king, sharply, vexed at this second interruption.

“He does not like me, and he would never give me a situation.  I—­”

“Well, that is no fault of mine.  But I haven’t any more time to lose with you.”

Seeing it was useless to say more, the boy made his departure, trying to feel hopeful, but fearing the worst.

CHAPTER II.

Scarcely had the youth left the railroad company’s headquarters, when a tall, spare man, with faultless dress and cleanly-shaven face, entered the apartment, going straight to the superintendent’s desk, smiling and nodding to the clerks as he passed them.

He was Donald Minturn, the assistant superintendent, who had a smile for every one, but as treacherous as the charm of the serpent.

“Hilloa Minturn!” greeted his chief; “you are back sooner than I expected.  By-the-way, you must have met a boy as you came in.  He was after a situation, and I was careless enough not to ask him his name.  Call him back if it is not too late.  I think we might do worse than—­”