The Short Line War. Samuel Merwin

seems friendly,” thought Harvey, as the footfalls diminished along the floor, and then he puzzled over what he should say when McNally came back. At last he smiled. “That's it,” he said to himself, “I'll try to rent him that vacant suite in our office building.”

      When West had made up his mind that the party of four were not to meet in Wing's office, he had decided to see if they were in McNally's. He could not ask for Wing, of course, so he asked for McNally and trusted to the spur of the moment for a pretext for his call. Now that McNally's absence had enabled him to think of one he took a long breath of satisfaction. He had accomplished what he had set out to accomplish, and contrary to Jim Weeks's expressed expectation. There was no doubt that it was a combination of the C. & S.C. and Thompson's gang that was booming the M. & T. Moreover there was no doubt as to their next move. “But it won't work,” he thought. “Jim owns about half of Tillman City, and anyway they'll never sell when our stock is jumping up the way it is.”

      And having settled this important matter he switched his train of thought off on another track. It reached Truesdale in a very short time, but it had nothing to do with M. & T., or with Mr. McNally. He took the note out of his pocket and read it through twice, and then smoked over it comfortably for some time before he began vaguely to wonder why Mr. McNally didn't come back. Five minutes later he glanced at his cigar ash. It was an inch and a half long. “That means twenty minutes,” he said thoughtfully, and then it dawned on him that things had happened which were not down on the schedule.

      He walked quickly to the telephone, and a moment later Pease was talking to him.

      “No,” said the stenographer; “Mr. Weeks went out to lunch about an hour ago. He said he wouldn't be back to the office this afternoon.”

      There had been no words wasted in the two minutes' conversation between Porter and McNally after Harvey's abrupt entrance, and as a result of it, while the young secretary waited and thought over the good stroke of work he had done for Jim Weeks and of another good stroke he might some day do for himself, Mr. Frederick McNally took the two-thirty express for Manchester and Tillman City.

CHAPTER III. — POLITICS AND OTHER THINGS

       Table of Contents

      Harvey West was a young man. Perhaps had he been older, had his wisdom been salted with experience, he would not have put two and two together without realizing that the sum was four; but then, it is the difference between twenty-six and fifty that makes railroads a possibility. He walked slowly to the elevator and descended to the street. At the corner he paused and looked about, turning over in his mind the singular disappearance of Mr. McNally. “He can't do anything with Tillman's stock,” thought Harvey. “They're solid for us.” But Harvey in his brief business life had not fathomed the devious ways of the chronic capitalist. He knew that commercial honor was honeycombed with corrupt financiering, but to him the corrupt side was more or less vague, and never having soiled his fingers he failed to realize the nearness of the mud. Harvey had yet to learn that in dealing with a municipality or with a legislature, the law of success has but two prime factors, money and speed.

      He walked slowly over Madison Street and turned into State. Weeks was not in the office, and anyway he wished to clear his mind, if possible, before he talked with him; meanwhile sauntering up the east side of State Street with an eye for the shopping throng. People interested Harvey. He was fond of noting types, and of watching the sandwich-men, beggars, and shoe-string venders. Often at noon he would walk from Randolph Street to Harrison, observing the shifting character of Chicago's great thoroughfare. To Harvey it seemed like a river, starting clear but gradually roiled by the smaller streams that poured in, each a little muddier than the one next north, until it was clogged and stagnant with the scum of the city. But to-day he was going north. The sidewalk was crowded with eager girls and jaded women, keen on the scent of bargains. These amused Harvey, and he smiled as he crossed Washington Street. A moment later the smile brightened. Miss Porter stood on the corner.

      “Surprised to see me?” she laughed. “Father came up unexpectedly on business, and I tagged along to do some shopping. Are you in a hurry? I suppose so. You men never lose a chance to awe us with the value of your time.”

      “No,” Harvey replied, “I'm not at all in a hurry.”

      “Good, then you can help me. I am buying a gown.”

      They went into Field's, and for nearly an hour Harvey “helped.” It did not take him long to realize that nowhere is a strong man more helpless than in a department store. He went through yards of samples, fingered dozens of fabrics; he discussed and suggested, all with a critical air that amused Miss Porter. She tried at first to take him seriously, but finally gave up, leaned against the counter and laughed.

      “Suppose we go up to the waiting room,” she said. “You can talk, anyway.”

      With a smile Harvey assented, and they seated themselves near the railing, where they could look down on the human kaleidoscope below.

      “By the way,” said Harvey, after they had chatted for some time, “this morning's Tribune has a good joke on one of your Truesdale neighbors. Did you see it?”

      “No. Tell me about it.”

      “Why, it seems that he—it was Judge Black—is up at Waupaca. He went there in a hurry from Lake Geneva to get away from some cases that were following him and spoiling the vacation he's been trying to get since July. He moved so quickly that his trunk left him and went up to Minnesota or somewhere. Well, the Judge was asked to speak at an entertainment the first night at the hotel. An hour or so before the time set for the speech he fell into the lake and ruined his only suit of clothes. There wasn't a man there anywhere near his size, so he appeared before the guests of the Grand View Hotel in the 'bus man's overalls.”

      Katherine laughed heartily.

      “Father will enjoy that,” she said. “He loves to laugh at Judge Black.” And she added, “I wonder where father is.”

      “Do you return to Truesdale to-day?” Harvey asked.

      “No. Not until day after to-morrow. We go to the South Side to dinner, father and I. Father told me to meet him here at half-past three.”

      Harvey drew out his watch.

      “It is after four now.”

      “Yes, I'm a little worried. Father is usually very prompt. He had to see some men about the railroad, but he said it wouldn't take him long. I'm afraid something has happened.”

      So was Harvey. The mention of Mr. Porter brought back to him certain peculiar facts, and for a moment he thought fast. Evidently something was happening. In case there was a chance of Tillman City wavering, Jim Weeks should know of Porter's activity and at once. Harvey rose abruptly.

      “Excuse me. I find I have forgotten some work at the office.”

      “Must you go? I am sorry.” She rose and extended her hand. “I shan't be at home either night or I'd ask you to come and see me. But you are coming down to Truesdale soon, remember.”

      “Yes,” said Harvey. “Good-by.”

      He walked rapidly to the Washington Building. Jim had left no word, and Harvey called up the Ashland Avenue residence, but could learn nothing. The Northern Station master returned a similar report: Mr. Weeks had not been seen. Harvey sat down and rested his elbows on the desk. Already it might be too late. He called to mind Jim's business arrangements, in the hope of striking a clew by chance. He was interrupted by a few callers, whom he disposed of with a rush; and he was closing his desk with a vague idea of hunting Jim in person when he was called to the 'phone. It was the station master.

      “I was mistaken, Mr. West,” he said. “Fourteen has just got in from Manchester, and he says he took Mr. Weeks out at noon.”

      Harvey