Having, as it were, superintended the securing of Pepper, Mr. Crewe led the way through the house to the study, pausing once or twice to point out to Austen a carved ivory elephant procured at great expense in China, and a piece of tapestry equally difficult of purchase.  The study itself was no mere lounging place of a man of pleasure, but sober and formidable books were scattered through the cases:  “Turner’s Evolution of the Railroad,” “Graham’s Practical Forestry,” “Eldridge’s Finance”; while whole shelves of modern husbandry proclaimed that Mr. Humphrey Crewe was no amateur farmer.  There was likewise a shelf devoted to road building, several to knotty-looking pamphlets, and half a wall of neatly labelled pigeonholes.  For decoration, there was an oar garnished with a ribbon, and several groups of college undergraduates, mostly either in puffed ties or scanty attire, and always prominent in these groups, and always unmistakable, was Mr. Humphrey Crewe himself.

Mr. Crewe was silent awhile, that this formidable array of things might make the proper impression upon his visitor.

“It was lucky you came to-day, Vane,” he said at length.  “I am due in New York to-morrow for a directors’ meeting, and I have a conference in Chicago with a board of trustees of which I am a member on the third.  Looking at my array of pamphlets, eh?  I’ve been years in collecting them,—­ever since I left college.  Those on railroads ought especially to interest you—­I’m somewhat of a railroad man myself.”

“I didn’t know that,” said Austen.

“Had two or three blocks of stock in subsidiary lines that had to be looked after.  It was a nuisance at first,” said Mr. Crewe, “but I didn’t shirk it.  I made up my mind I’d get to the bottom of the railroad problem, and I did.  It’s no use doing a thing at all unless you do it well.”  Mr. Crewe, his hands still in his pockets, faced Austen smilingly.  “Now I’ll bet you didn’t know I was a railroad man until you came in here.  To tell the truth, it was about a railroad matter that I sent for you.”

Mr. Crewe lit a cigar, but he did not offer one to Austen, as he had to Mr. Tooting.  “I wanted to see what you were like,” he continued, with refreshing frankness.  “Of course, I’d seen you on the road.  But you can get more of an idea of a man by talkin’ to him, you know.”

“You can if he’ll talk,” said Austen, who was beginning to enjoy his visit.

Mr. Crewe glanced at him keenly.  Few men are fools at all points of the compass, and Mr. Crewe was far from this.

“You did well in that little case you had against the Northeastern.  I heard about it.”

“I did my best,” answered Austen, and he smiled again.

“As some great man has remarked,” observed Mr. Crewe, “it isn’t what we do, it’s how we do it.  Take pains over the smaller cases, and the larger cases will come of themselves, eh?”

“I live in hope,” said Austen, wondering how soon this larger case was going to unfold itself.