it a small frown of annoyance.

"Your name is Brockway, I believe," the President said.

"Ye-yes," Brockway stammered, being by no means so sure of it at the
moment.

"H-m; and, if I remember correctly, you are an employee of this line?"

"I am." The passenger agent was beginning a little to recover his
scattered store of self-possession.

"Very good. Possibly you can tell me what I want to know. What is the
dinner station, and when do we reach it?"

"Moreno--twelve-ten. Shall I wire ahead for a private table?" Brockway
asked, eager to preface his unwelcome purpose with some small token of
service.

"By no means; we are no better than the patrons of your company. What is
good enough for them ought to suffice for us."

"Of course, if you don't wish it," Brockway began; and then the plunge:
"I am in charge of the excursionists in this car, and they want it
placed behind yours. If you will kindly consent to humor their whim----"
He stopped in deference to the frown of displeasure which was gradually
overspreading the President's brow.

"And so make our private car a thoroughfare for everybody," said he,
indignantly; then, with a sudden turn which confused Brockway until he
saw its drift, "But you are quite right; the patrons of your company
should always be considered first. We are only guests. By all means,
make the change at the first opportunity."

"Please don't misunderstand me," Brockway said, courageously. "I didn't
propose it. If you object, just say so, and I'll see them all hanged
first."

The President shook his head reprovingly, and Brockway fancied he could
feel the cold gray eyes pinning him against the partition.

"Certainly not; I am afraid you don't sufficiently consider your duty to
your employers. I not only authorize the change--I desire it. I shall
request it if you do not."

Brockway winced under the patronizing tone, but he was determined not to
let pride stand in the way of better things. So he said, "Thank you for
helping me out. I'll have the change made at the dinner station, and
we'll try not to annoy you any more than we can help."

That ended it, and he was no nearer the penetralia of car Naught-fifty
than before. Mr. Vennor turned to go, but at the door he bethought him
of the crippled range.

"A water-pipe has burst in our kitchen range," said he. "Can we get it
repaired this side of Denver?"

Brockway considered it for a moment. Back of his passenger department
service t