ons which Brockway's proposed undertaking might
easily fulfil. Gertrude had been distinctly pleased with the young man
the preceding summer. Other things had happened since, and, fortunately,
Fleetwell was along to look after his own interests. None the less, it
might be well for them to meet under conditions which would make it
impossible for the passenger agent to pose as Gertrude's social equal.
Accordingly, the President sought out the porter and gave him his
instructions.

"William, that young man will come in this afternoon to repair the
range. When he is well at work, I want you to come and tell me."

IV

THE DINNER STATION

The railway company's hotel at Moreno is a pretentious Queen Anne
cockle-shell, confronted by a broad platform flowing in an unrippled
tide of planking between the veranda and the track, with tributary
wooden streams paralleling the rails.

Brockway knew this platform by length and by breadth; and when the
"Flying Kestrel" ranged alongside he meant to project himself into the
procession of dinner-seekers what time Miss Vennor should be passing the
Tadmor. But _l'homme propose, et la femme_----

"Oh, Mr. Brockway; _will_ you help me find my satchel? the one with the
monogram, you know. I can't find it anywhere." Thus one of the
unescorted ladies whose major weakness was a hopeless inability to keep
in touch with her numerous belongings.

The train was already at a stand, but Brockway smothered his impatience
and joined the search for the missing hand-bag, contenting himself with
a glimpse of the President's daughter as she passed the windows of the
Tadmor. Fleeting as it was, the glimpse fired his heart anew. The year
had brought her added largesse of beauty and winsomeness. The wind was
blowing free and riotous, caressing the soft brown hair under the dainty
travelling hat, and twisting the modest gray gown into clinging
draperies as she breasted it. Brockway gazed and worshipped afresh, and
prudence and poverty-pride vanished when he observed that she was
leaning upon the arm of an athletic young man, whose attitude was
sufficiently lover-like to make the passenger agent abjure wisdom and
curse common sense.

"That's what I get for playing the finical idiot!" he groaned. "A year
ago I might have had it all my own way if I hadn't been a pride-ridden
fool. Confound the money, anyway; it's enough to make a man wish it were
all at the bottom of the sea!"

With which anarchist