THERE is something about the duties and ambitions of a railroad
superintendent that make him wish to appear inscrutable. The reason,
perhaps, is the man behind him who wants his job, or the man ahead whose
job he wants--or both. Anyhow, an attempt at inscrutability is the
typical refuge for the ignorant and the smaller the road the more futile
the attempt. Though I established my identity and purpose beyond a
doubt, he at first refused to allow me passage to New Orleans in his
car. He seemed to be suspicious of me, perhaps that I intended to
burglarize the safe, make off before his eyes with a locomotive or some
of the numerous scrap iron along the right-of-way. However, he finally
became rational and reversed himself.
His car was divided about the center, one end being private to himself
and his clerk. The other part was sort of a reception room, the
"anxious" seat for subordinates. In this apartment they had placed the
safe.
After we left Quarrytown, his undersized clerk emerged from the private
quarters and requested Hiram to open the safe, which he did promptly and
with a firm hand. The clerk took the contents to the superintendent.
Meanwhile Gus wore a very red face and sighed repeatedly, as though
already on the way to the penitentiary instead of New Orleans.
After examination of Hiram's records Gus was called in before the
Superintendent and given the third degree. When he came out he was
muchly upset and perspiring. Hiram, disgusted, looked upon him with
contempt, which feeling was intensified when the flabby Gus dropped into
a chair and glared back at him ominously. It may have been because of
the high speed of the light engine and the solitary car, but I surely
saw Gus's knees knock together from sheer fright. He had likely
overstated his alibi in an abandoned and frantic attempt to protect
himself to Hiram's disadvantage.
When the superintendent's clerk finally came to the door and beckoned
Hiram, the latter's attitude pleased me. Neither defiant nor
disrespectful, he walked into the presence of his superior, and when he
emerged from the interview he had not changed a hair.
Presently the little clerk stuck his head out of the dividing door and
beckoned to me in the same curt manner he had signaled the two men who
were under suspicion. I had no notion of being placed in the same
category and made it clear to the clerk that such was the case. At once
he became civil and led the way.
When I entered his sanctum the superintendent sat facing me at the flat
top desk in the corner of the car. He was a short, stocky man, and
evidenced much perturbation of mind by mopping his florid face. A
Flounder had been clapped on his head and when it came away it brought
all the hair under it, leaving only a slight fringe. His lips and
cherubic mouth were pursed and screwed up to simulate an executive air.
As he jerked his thumb indicating a wicker chair opposite him, I noticed
the little clerk sat at a small desk at the side of the car, with
notebook and pencil poised significantly.
"What have you to say about this matter?" he asked without delay,
withdrawing his eyes and winking violently as soon as they met mine.
"Nothing," I answered good naturedly.
"I understand you were here investigating the loss of the dynamite when
the explosion occurred. Have you no theory as to how it occurred?"
"No, I have no theory: I _know_ how it occurred."
"Would you"--he hesitated, looking down and bringing his chubby hands
together before him--"would you mind telling me what you know about it?"
"My information will not be available to the railroad through me, but if
you will dismiss your clerk, I will give you, as man to man, enough
information to ease your mind." In saying this I was thinking only of
Hiram.
After some hesitation, he nodded to the expectant clerk, who rose
instantly and left the apartment.
"Mr. Taylor--I believe you said your name was Taylor--this matter has
upset me, and I may have been rude," he apologized, and lapsed into the
attitude of a very decent fellow with troubles of his own. I then gave
him enough details to put Hiram right. He was immensely relieved and
pleased to gain such valuable information.
"You seem to know something of this young Strong?" he queried. My reply
was that I thought I had a very good line on Hiram Strong, Jr.
"His cash and station records are as clean and straight as a pin--he
seems to be rather under-classed and is capable of better things. What
are his antecedents?" The superintendent's interest was aroused.
"My knowledge does not extend beyond his father, a Southerner, now a
prominent financier in New York. It appears he decided that the only way
to make something of this boy was to throw him out entirely on his own
resources, and apparently the old gentleman's reasoning was good."
"I believe you are right; there is good blood in him. Our big trouble is
in making good railroad men from material without any blood base. We
frequently have to make 'a silk purse from a sow's ear,' which is
generally considered impossible--but we do it. Now the case of this
other fellow--can you conceive of a full grown man with no better sense
than to take a fifty-pound case of dynamite, drive nails into it, and
then use it as a chair? But I am greatly relieved to know just how it
happened, and if I can ever be of any service to you, don't fail to
make it known--will you?" he asked, rising formally, to end the
audience.
When I came out Hiram glanced at me searchingly, as though he would
learn something from my attitude. He had been absorbing information from
the train conductor. Hiram had developed a penchant for burrowing into
the confidence of every one and getting inside knowledge of their
difficulties.
At this time we succeeded in running around a freight train that had
been holding us back, and entered New Orleans so fast that conversation
was quite impossible.
Before we reached the station the clerk came out and told Hiram and Gus
to report at the office at nine the next morning, at which Hiram became
thoughtful, but not downcast.
He was able to get his old room next to mine, which pleased him, and
after opening the connecting door and cleaning up a bit, he came in and
gave me one of his strenuous whacks between my shoulders.
"Old man Ben, what do I draw to-morrow morning at nine?"
"Hiram, I don't know," I truthfully replied, working my shoulders where
he had hit me, "but I think you will be drawn and quartered and made
into good fertilizer; that's all you're fit for." At this he began to
cavort and caper about like a colt.
"Well, I don't mind telling you how I feel--I don't give a Continental
sou Marquis what I draw. I feel like fighting wild cats and buzz-saws.
Now that Anna Bell Morgan has promised to marry me, nothing else
matters."