etween the two towns--there's hell to pay now on both sides of the
Sagalac. He took away the railway offices from here, and threw men out
of work. He's done harm to Manitou--he's against Manitou every time."

Murmurs of approval ran through the crowd, though some were silent,
looking curiously at the forceful and confident old man. Even his bent
shoulders seemed to suggest driving power rather than the weight of
years. He suddenly stretched out a hand in command as it were.

"Comrades, comrades," he said, "every man makes mistakes. Even if it was
a mistake for Ingolby to take away the offices from Manitou, he's done a
big thing for both cities by combining the three railways."

"Monopoly," growled a voice from the crowd. "Not monopoly," the old man
replied with a ring to his voice, which made it younger, fresher. "Not
monopoly, but better management of the railways, with more wages, more
money to spend on things to eat and drink and wear, more dollars in the
pocket of everybody that works in Manitou and Lebanon. Ingolby works, he
doesn't loaf."

"Oh, gosh all hell, he's a dynamo," shouted a voice from the crowd.
"He's a dynamo running the whole show-eh!"

The old man seemed to grow shorter, but as he thrust his shoulders
forward, it was like a machine gathering energy and power.

"I'll tell you, friends, what Ingolby is trying to do," he said in a low
voice vibrating with that force which belongs neither to age nor youth,
but is the permanent activity uniting all ages of a man. "Of course,
Ingolby is ambitious and he wants power. He tries to do the big things
in the world because there is the big thing to do--for sure. Without
such men the big things are never done, and other men have less work
to do, and less money and poorer homes. They discover and construct and
design and invent and organize and give opportunities. I am a working
man, but I know what Ingolby thinks. I know what men think who try to do
the big things. I have tried to do them."

The crowd were absolutely still now, but the big river-driver shook
himself free of the eloquence, which somehow swayed them all, and said:

"You--you look as if you'd tried to do big things, you do, old
skeesicks. I bet you never earned a hundred dollars in your life." He
turned to the crowd with fierce gestures. "Let's go to Lebanon and make
the place sing," he roared. "Let's get Ingolby out to talk for himself,
if he wants to talk. We know what we want to do, and we'