“Cheer up, ’Happy’!” Dr. Gray exhorted him.  “It’s the biggest thing we ever tackled.”

“Wait!  Just wait till you’ve seen the place,” Tom said.

“Don’t you think it can be done?”

“Nope!”

“Come, come!”

“It’s impossible!  Of course we’ll do it, but it’s impossible, just the same.  It will mean a scrap, too, like none of us ever saw, and I was raised in a logging-camp where fighting is the general recreation.  If I was young, like the rest of you, I wouldn’t mind; but I’m old—­and my digestion’s gone.  I can’t hardly take care of myself any more, Doc.  I’m too feeble to fight or—­” He signaled a passing car; it failed to stop and he rushed after it, dodging vehicles with the agility of a rabbit and swinging his heavy war-bag as if it weighed no more than a good resolution.

O’Neil entered the ladies’ parlor with a feeling of extreme annoyance, expecting to meet an inquisitive, bold young woman bent upon exploiting his plans and his personality in the usual inane journalistic fashion.  He was surprised and offended that Dan Appleton, in whom he had reposed the utmost faith, should have betrayed his secret.  Publicity was a thing he detested at all times, and at present he particularly dreaded its effect.  But he was agreeably surprised in the girl who came toward him briskly with hand outstretched.

Miss Appleton was her brother’s double; she had his frank blue eyes, his straw-gold hair, his humorous smile and wide-awake look.  She was not by any means beautiful!—­her features were too irregular, her nose too tip-tilted, her mouth too generous for that—­but she seemed crisp, clean-cut, and wholesome What first struck O’Neil was her effect of boyishness.  From the crown of her plain straw “sailor” to the soles of her sensible walking-boots there was no suggestion of feminine frippery.  She wore a plain shirtwaist and a tailored skirt, and her hair was arranged simply.  The wave in its pale gold was the only concession to mere prettiness.  Yet she gave no impression of deliberate masculinity.  She struck one as merely not interested in clothes, instinctively expressing in her dress her own boyish directness and her businesslike absorption in her work.

“You’re furious, of course; anybody would be,” she began, then laughed so frankly that his eyes softened and the wrinkles at their corners deepened.

“I fear I was rude before I learned you were Dan’s sister,” he apologized.  “But you see I’m a bit afraid of newspaper people.”

“I knew you’d struggle—­although Dan described you as a perfectly angelic person.”

“Indeed!”

“But I’m a real reporter, so I won’t detain you long.  I don’t care where you were born or where you went to school, or what patent breakfast-food you eat.  Tell me, are you going to build another railroad?”

“I hope so.  I’m always building roads when my bids are low enough to secure the contracts; that’s my business.”