with a jack. We'd rubbed up together three or four times before I'd
had him a month, and I was getting tired of it. We'd got about halfway to
the junction that night, and I felt the brakes go on hard, and before I
could get through the train and over the tender, we'd stopped dead. The
Scotchman was down by the drivers fussing around with a lantern. I
hollered out:--

"'What's the matter there?'

"'She's a bit 'ot,' said he.

"You'd have thought he was running a huckleberry train from the time he
took. I ordered him into the cab, and he just waved his hand and said:--

"'Wait a bit, wait a bit. She'll be cool directly.'"

Bannon chuckled at the recollection.

"What did you do?" Hilda asked.

"Jumped for the lever, and hollered for him to get aboard."

"Did he come?"

"No, he couldn't think that fast. He just stood still, looking at me,
while I threw her open, and you could see his lantern for a mile back--he
never moved. He had a good six-mile walk back to the last station."

There was a long silence. Bannon got up and walked slowly up and down the
enclosure with his hands deep in his pockets.

"I wish this would let up," he said, after a time, pausing in his walk,
and looking again at the window. "It's a wonder we're getting things done
at all."

Hilda's eye, roaming over the folded newspaper, fell on the weather
forecast.

"Fair tomorrow," she said, "and colder."

"That doesn't stand for much. They said the same thing yesterday. It's a
worse gamble than wheat."

Bannon took to walking again; and Hilda stepped down and stood by the
window, spelling out the word "Calumet" with her ringer on the misty
glass. At each turn, Bannon paused and looked at her. Finally he stood
still, not realizing that he was staring until she looked around, flushed,
and dropped her eyes. Then he felt awkward, and he began turning over the
blue prints on the table.

"I'll tell you what I'll have to do," he said. "I rather think now I'll
start on the third for Montreal, I'm telling you a secret, you know. I'm
not going to let Brown or MacBride know where I'll be. And if I can pick
up some good pictures of the river, I'll send them to you. I'll get one of
the Montmorency Falls, if I can. They're great in winter."

"Why--why, thank you," she said. "I'd like to have them."

"I ain't much at writing letters," he went on, "but I'll send you the
pictures, and you write and tell me how things are going."

She laughed softly, and