By the time he had his company properly drilled, young Jewett was so perfectly saturated with the subject of war that he was almost unfit for duty as a despatcher.  Only his anxiety about south-bound troop trains held his mind to the matter and his hand to the wheel.  At night, after a long evening in the drill field, he would dream of great battles, and hear in his dreams the ceaseless tramp, tramp of soldiers marching down from the north to re-enforce the fellows in the fight.

Finally, when he felt that they were fit, he called his company together for the election of officers.  Jewett was the unanimous choice for captain, other officers were chosen, and the captain at once applied for a commission.

The Jewetts were an influential family, and no one doubted the result of the young despatcher’s request.  He waited anxiously for some time, wrote a second letter, and waited again.  “Any news from Springfield?” the conductor would ask, leaving the register, and the chief despatcher would shake his head.

One morning, on entering his office, Jewett found a letter on his desk.  It was from the Superintendent, and it stated bluntly that the resignation of the chief despatcher would be accepted, and named his successor.

Jewett read it over a second time, then turned and carried it into the office of his chief.

“Why?” echoed the Superintendent; “you ought to know why.  For months you have neglected your office, and have worked and schemed and conspired to get trainmen and enginemen to quit work and go to war.  Every day women who are not ready to be widowed come here and cry on the carpet because their husbands are going away with ‘Captain’ Jewett’s company.  Only yesterday a schoolgirl came running after me, begging me not to let her little brother, the red-headed peanut on the local, go as drummer-boy in ‘Captain’ Jewett’s company.

“And now, after demoralizing the service and almost breaking up a half a hundred homes, you ask, ‘Why?’ Is that all you have to say?”

“No,” said the despatcher, lifting his head; “I have to say to you, sir, that I have never knowingly neglected my duty.  I have not conspired.  I have been misjudged and misunderstood; and in conclusion, I would say that my resignation shall be written at once.”

Returning to his desk, Jewett found the long-looked-for letter from Springfield.  How his heart beat as he broke the seal!  How timely—­just as things come out in a play.  He would not interrupt traffic on the Alton, but with a commission in his pocket would go elsewhere and organize a new company.  These things flashed through his mind as he unfolded the letter.  His eye fell immediately on the signature at the end.  It was not the name of the Governor, who had been a close friend of his father, but of the Lieutenant-Governor.  It was a short letter, but plain; and it left no hope.  His request had been denied.

This time he did not ask why.  He knew why, and knew that the influence of a great railway company, with the best of the argument on its side, would outweigh the influence of a train despatcher and his friends.