Justin looked up, surprised. “I never knew that.”

“Oh, Mr. Cater calls his machine by a different name; it’s the

Timoscript. But it amounts to the same thing, after a fashion—not as

good as ours, by a long shot; it clogs horribly after you’ve worked it

for a while. They’ve got one in the billiard-room around the corner.”

“And this Mr. Cater—has he been in the business long?”

“He was here when we came, two years ago.”

Justin said no more. He went out later to search for a decent place for

luncheon in this unfamiliar city, and was hardly surprised, when he

seated himself by a little white table in a small, rather dark room, to

look up and recognize opposite him the smiling face of Mr. Angevin L.

Cater.

“I was wondering how soon you’d find this place out,” said the latter.

He spoke with a Southern drawl. “You don’t get a very large repertoire

here, but what they do give you is sort of catchy. They fry well, and

that’s an art. And it’s clean.”

“Yes,” said Justin shortly. It was his untoward fate to be usually

spoken to by strangers, and he had a much more social feeling toward

those who let him alone, but even the shadows of this golden day were

translucent.

“I reckon you know who I am—Angevin L. Cater. Angevin’s a queer name,

isn’t it? French—several generations back.”

To this Justin made no reply, conceiving that none was required. After a

moment Mr. Cater began again:

“Perhaps you think it’s strange—my speaking to you in this way. Of

course I’ve seen you coming to Number 270, and knew that you were taking

charge there, but that’s not the whole of it. I’m from Georgia—got a

wife and two children and a mother-in-law in Balderville now.” He paused

to give this impressive fact full weight. “You’ve some relatives there,

haven’t you, by the name of Linden?”

“My wife has,” said Justin, with new attention.

“Well, I reckon I heard of you some this fall when I was home. Miss

Theodosia was talking of spending the winter North with you, she asked

me if I knew Mr. Justin Alexander, and I had to tell her no. I didn’t

think I’d meet up with you so soon. Heard from her lately?”

“We expect Miss Linden to-morrow,” said Justin. “How is Mr. Linden

getting on? We haven’t heard very good accounts of him lately.”

“Oh, Linden’s a mighty fine man; he ain’t successful, that’s all. I find

a heap of mighty fine men that ain’t successful, don’t you? I don’t

think it’s anything against a man that he ain’t successful. Besides, old

man Linden ain’t got his health; you can’t do anything if you haven’t

got your health. His wife’s a mighty fine lady—pretty, too; but she

ain’t much on dressin’ up; stays at home and takes care of her children.

And Miss Dosia—well, Miss Dosia’s a peach. Talented, too—I tell you,

she can bang the ivories! But she’s been kinder pinin’ lately; I reckon

she needs a change—though a change isn’t always what it’s cracked up to

be. I’ve found that out, haven’t you? I changed into a New York business

two years ago, and it’s taken all my strength to buck up against it till

now. I reckon maybe it’ll carry me along all right—now.”

“You’re in the same line that I am, I understand,” said Justin, who had

been eating while the other talked.

“Why, yes, you might call it that, I guess both machines started in

Connecticut. A cousin of mine owned one, he said Warford stole his idea

and got it patented first—I don’t know. When he died he left me what

money he had, and I took up the concern. I’ve got a Yankee side to me as

well as a Southern side; sometimes I get tuckered out tryin’ to combine

’em.”

“You say that trade is looking up now?” asked Justin.

“Well, yes, it is. The public is beginning to learn the value of time as

recorded by the timoscript.” His eyes twinkled. “Our machine is put

together better than the Warford. I feel it my duty to say that, Mr.

Alexander. It’s simpler, for one thing—there ain’t so many little cogs

to catch and get out of order. No complex mechanism; a child can run

it—that’s what my circulars say. I believe in advertising, same as you;

I don’t object to your booming trade. The more people there are, now,

who know there is a time-machine, the more there’ll be to find they’ve

had a long-felt want for one, no matter what you call it. And—you

shouldn’t hurry over your luncheon so, Mr. Alexander,” for Justin had

thrown down his napkin and was rising.

“I’ve got to be back at the office by two,” said Justin, glancing at the

clock, which showed five minutes of the hour.

“Oh, you can walk it in three minutes; but of course you’re not down to

that yet. I’m glad to have met up with you, sir, and I hope to see you

often. I reckon this town’s big enough for two of a kind.”

“Thank you,” said Justin, glad to escape. He had been telling himself

during the conversation that he would take care to avoid Mr. Angevin L.

Cater’s favorite haunt for the future, but he was surprised to find a

change gradually stealing over him after he had left the man. There are

some persons, distinctly agreeable at first, whose absence materializes

an unexpected aversion to their further acquaintance; others, whose

company one has found tedious, leave a wholesome flavor, after all,

behind them. Mr. Cater appeared to be of the latter class. Justin found

himself smiling with real kindness once or twice as he thought of his

opposite neighbor.

But there was little time for turning aside during the afternoon—the

evening as well as the morning were component parts of that golden day.

The orders that came in gave a wonderful effect of luck, although they

were largely the legitimate outcome of well-planned efforts. Justin

thought the work of the last six months was bringing its fulfillment

now, but this clear stream of accomplishment showed him the way to a

mighty ocean. Power, power, power! The sense of it was in his

finger-ends as he focused his mind on world-embracing schemes; with that

impelling current of strength, he could have turned even failure to

success, and he knew it.

The hours were all too short for transacting the business that had to be

done, and for all the consultations as to ways and means. It would take

some time to put these preparations on a larger scale.

Justin was ready to leave at six o’clock, with a bundle of price-lists

under his arm to look over when he got home. The last mail was handed to

him just as he was locking his desk.

“There is no use in my looking over these to-night, Harker,” he said.

“You can get at them the first thing in the morning. I will be down even

earlier than to-day. Stay—” His eye had caught sight of an envelope

with the name of a well-known Chicago firm on it. He tore it open, ran

his eye rapidly over the contents, and then handed it, with a gesture as

of abdication, to Harker. The bookkeeper was the first to break the

silence.

“I thought we were getting along pretty rapidly to-day,” he said, “but

it seems that we haven’t even started. This tops all! We’ll have to get

a big move on, Mr. Alexander. They’re giving us very short time.”

“Yes,” said Justin. He lingered irresolutely, and then laid down his

papers with the hat which he held ready to put on, and went over to the

safe. He took from it five new ten-dollar bills and tucked them into his

waistcoat pocket. They sent a glow to his heart, for they were intended

as a little gift to his wife; it seemed to him that this last good

fortune had given him the right to make her a visible sharer in it.

As he ran up the steps of his home, he collided with a small boy who was

holding a bicycle with one hand and proffering a yellow envelope through

the open doorway with an outstretched arm. Lois was taking it. She and

Justin read the telegram at the same moment, before it fell fluttering

to the ground between them, as both hands dropped it.

“I cannot possibly go,” he said, staring at her.

“Oh, Justin! I will, then—some one _must_.”

“No, no, _you_ can’t; that’s nonsense. Great heavens! for this to come

at such a time!” He broke off again, staring helplessly before him.

Leverich was in St. Louis, Martin at his home ill. “Why didn’t the girl

start last week, as she intended?”

“Oh, the poor child—don’t blame _her_. The accident must have been so

terrible!”

“Yes—yes, indeed.” He sat down in the hall chair, while his wife signed

the telegraph-book which the boy incidentally held open for her as he

chewed gum. When she finished, she saw that Justin was pouring over the

time-table in an evening paper; he laid it down to say:

“If I start back for town in ten minutes I can catch the eight-thirty

train south, and get home again to-morrow night or the morning after, if

Theodosia is able to travel. That will only make me lose one day.” One

day! He shook his head in bitter impatience.

“Oh, I hate to have you go in this way! Shall I send word to the office

for you?”

“No; I’ll write some telegrams on the way in. I’ll run up-stairs and put

a few things in the bag, and kiss the children good night—I hear them

calling.” He put his hand in his pocket and hurriedly drew out the crisp

roll of bills, and looked at them ruefully.

“I brought this money for you, Lois, but I’ll have to take it with me,

I’m afraid, for I might run short.” He put his arm around her for a

brief instant, in answer to her exclamation. “No, don’t get me anything

to eat; I haven’t time, I tell you. I’ll get what I want later, on the

train.” In the strong irritation which he was curbing he felt as if he

would never want to eat again. He was in reality by nature both kind and

compassionate, but the worst sting of trouble lies often in the fact

that it is so inopportune.