“I know it; but we’ve a heap to do first.”  Miss Kinzey was from Milwaukee, somewhat direct of speech; and as her fancy leaned towards the secretary, she divined there was work in hand.  He was looking earnestly at the vast roller-map of America on the wall.

“Milsom, we’re going right across.  Private car—­straight through—­Boston.  Fix the connections,” shouted Cheyne down the staircase.

“I thought so.”

The secretary turned to the typewriter, and their eyes met (out of that was born a story—­nothing to do with this story).  She looked inquiringly, doubtful of his resources.  He signed to her to move to the Morse as a general brings brigades into action.  Then he swept his hand musician-wise through his hair, regarded the ceiling, and set to work, while Miss Kinzey’s white fingers called up the Continent of America.

“K.  H. Wade, Los Angeles The ‘Constance’ is at Los Angeles, isn’t she, Miss Kinzey?”

“Yep.”  Miss Kinzey nodded between clicks as the secretary looked at his watch.

“Ready?  Send ‘Constance,’ private car, here, and arrange for special to leave here Sunday in time to connect with New York Limited at Sixteenth Street, Chicago, Tuesday next.”

Click-lick-lick!  “Couldn’t you better that?”

“Not on those grades.  That gives ’em sixty hours from here to Chicago.  They won’t gain anything by taking a special east of that.  Ready?  Also arrange with Lake Shore and Michigan Southern to take ‘Constance’ on New York Central and Hudson River Buffalo to Albany, and B. and A. the same Albany to Boston.  Indispensable I should reach Boston Wednesday evening.  Be sure nothing prevents.  Have also wired Canniff, Toucey, and Barnes. —­Sign, Cheyne.”

Miss Kinzey nodded, and the secretary went on.

“Now then.  Canniff, Toucey, and Barnes, of course.  Ready?  Canniff, Chicago.  Please take my private car ‘Constance’ from Santa Fe at Sixteenth Street next Tuesday p. m. on N. Y. Limited through to Buffalo and deliver N. Y. C. for Albany.—­Ever bin to N’ York, Miss Kinzey?  We’ll go some day.—­Ready?  Take car Buffalo to Albany on Limited Tuesday p. m.  That’s for Toucey.”

“Haven’t bin to Noo York, but I know that!” with a toss of the head.

“Beg pardon.  Now, Boston and Albany, Barnes, same instructions from Albany through to Boston.  Leave three-five P. M. (you needn’t wire that); arrive nine-five P. M. Wednesday.  That covers everything Wade will do, but it pays to shake up the managers.”

“It’s great,” said Miss Kinzey, with a look of admiration.  This was the kind of man she understood and appreciated.

“’Tisn’t bad,” said Milsom, modestly.  “Now, any one but me would have lost thirty hours and spent a week working out the run, instead of handing him over to the Santa Fe’ straight through to Chicago.”

“But see here, about that Noo York Limited.  Chauncey Depew himself couldn’t hitch his car to her,” Miss Kinzey suggested, recovering herself.