er, "that the trip has been a success for you?"

The amateur pilot gave an involuntary start. The question pitched his
mind forward to the works, and he realized that for five days he had
forgotten all about them.

"It has been a very great pleasure to me," went on the prelate quietly.
"I'm apt to have too much broadcloth and not enough gray tweed in my
life. Most of us are in the same case, and one's love of one's work
does not suffer by an interest in other things."

"My dear sir, I've benefited enormously. I'm a new man and ready for
anything--even the worst." How little did he dream that at that very
moment Lachesis was spinning her invisible web.

"Ah! that's what we must always be ready for--or the best, which is
sometimes the same thing. Keep her to port a little."

The yacht rounded a long point and came in sight of the works, while
Clark experienced a throb of thankfulness that his host had attempted
no missionary work on him. He was as good as his word. There had been
no proselytizing.

As the vessel reached the dock, they said good-by, each ready to do his
job over again, and Clark, with his hand enveloped in the warm clasp,
realized much of the secret of the prelate's life, which was no secret
at all but just the benignity of a great and tender soul. He stepped
over the yacht's side and glanced at his secretary who advanced to meet
him with a telegram in his hand, noting that the young man's face was
pale and his eyes unusually brilliant.

"This came an hour ago, sir."

With an impatient gesture he opened the folded sheet and read, his
heart slowly contracting:

Regret unable to accept first cargo of rails being five thousand tons.
These not up to your guarantee and our specifications. Full
information this mail with the result of physical and chemical tests.

UNITED RAILWAY COMPANY.

Involuntarily he raised his head. The yacht was backing out, and the
bishop, coiling a rope in her bows, straightened up to wave farewell.
Automatically Clark waved back, then, with the telegram crumpled in his
palm, turned and walked slowly toward his office. Something the bishop
had said began to sing in his brain. Could the best and the worst ever
be the same thing?

XX.--THE CAR OF PROGRESS HALTS

The paralyzing news had lain in the faithful keeping of a confidential
operator and the white faced secretary who had guarded it jealously.
The latter followed to the private office. When the