“Where’s the money coming from?” Slater inquired, bluntly.

“I’m putting in my own fortune.”  “How much is that?  I’m dead to all sense of modesty, you see.”

“About a million dollars,” said O’Neil.

“Humph!  That won’t get us started.”

“I’ve raised another million in New York.”  The chief was smiling and did not seem to resent this inquisitiveness in the least.

“Nothing but a shoe-string!”

“My dear ‘Happy,’” laughed the builder, “I don’t intend to complete the road.”

“Then—­why in blazes are you starting it?” demanded Slater in a bewilderment which the others evidently shared.  “It’s one thing to build a railroad on a contractor’s commission, but it’s another thing to build it and pay your own way as you go along.  Half a railroad ain’t any good.”

“Once my right-of-way is filed it will put those projects from Cortez out of business.  No one but an imbecile would think of building in from there with the Omar route made possible.  Before we come to that Salmon River bridge the Copper Trust will have to buy us out!”

“That’s language!” said “Happy Tom” in sudden admiration.  “Those are words I understand.  I withdraw my objections and give my consent to the deal.”

“You are staking your whole fortune on your judgment, as I understand it,” McKay ventured.

“Every dollar of it,” Murray answered.

“Say, chief, that’s gambling some!” young Sheldon remarked with a wondering look.

They were deep in their discussion when the telephone broke in noisily.  Sheldon, being nearest to the instrument, answered it.  “There’s a newspaper reporter downstairs to interview you,” he announced, after an instant.

“I don’t grant interviews,” O’Neil said, sharply.  He could not guess by what evil chance the news of his plans had leaked out.

“Nothing doing!” Sheldon spoke into the transmitter.  He turned again to his employer.  “Operator says the party doesn’t mind waiting.”

O’Neil frowned impatiently.

“Throw him out!” Sheldon directed, brusquely, then suddenly dropped the receiver as if it had burnt his fingers.  “Hell!  It’s a woman, Murray!  She’s on the wire.  She thanks you sweetly and says she’ll wait.”

“A woman!  A newspaper woman!” O’Neil rose and seized the instrument roughly.  His voice was freezing as he said:  “Hello!  I refuse to be interviewed.  Yes!  There’s no use_—­” His tone suddenly altered.  “Miss Appleton!  I beg your pardon.  I’ll be right down.”  Turning to his subordinates, he announced with a wry smile:  “This seems to terminate our interview.  She’s Dan Appleton’s sister, and therefore—­” He shrugged resignedly.  “Now run along.  I’ll see you in the morning.”

His “boys” made their way down to the street, talking guardedly as they went.  All were optimistic save Slater, whose face remained shrouded in its customary gloom.