enveloped letter.

"We have the idea," he said quite frankly waiving any suggestion of the
president's influence in the matter and speaking for himself and the
secretary-in-chief, with whom he had agreed that Eugene ought to be
assisted, "that you had best apply to the engineering department.
Mr. Hobsen, the chief-engineer, can arrange for you. This letter I think
will get you what you want."

Eugene's heart bounded. He looked at the superscription and saw it
addressed to Mr. Woodruff Hobsen, Chief Engineer, and putting it in his
pocket without stopping to read it, but thanking the under-secretary
profusely, went out. In the hall at a safe distance he stopped and
opened it, finding that it spoke of him familiarly as "Mr. Eugene Witla,
an artist, temporarily incapacitated by neurasthenia," and went on to
say that he was "desirous of being appointed to some manual toil in some
construction corps. The president's office recommends this request to
your favor."

When he read this he knew it meant a position. It roused curious
feelings as to the nature and value of stratification. As a laborer he
was nothing: as an artist he could get a position as a laborer. After
all, his ability as an artist was worth something. It obtained him this
refuge. He hugged it joyously, and a few moments later handed it to an
under-secretary in the Chief-Engineer's office. Without being seen by
anyone in authority he was in return given a letter to Mr. William
Haverford, "Engineer of Maintenance of Way," a pale, anaemic gentleman of
perhaps forty years of age, who, as Eugene learned from him when he was
eventually ushered into his presence a half hour later, was a captain of
thirteen thousand men. The latter read the letter from the Engineer's
office curiously. He was struck by Eugene's odd mission and his
appearance as a man. Artists were queer. This was like one. Eugene
reminded him of himself a little in his appearance.

"An artist," he said interestedly. "So you want to work as a day
laborer?" He fixed Eugene with clear, coal-black eyes looking out of a
long, pear-shaped face. Eugene noticed that his hands were long and thin
and white and that his high, pale forehead was crowned by a mop of black
hair.

"Neurasthenia. I've heard a great deal about that of late, but have
never been troubled that way myself. I find that I derive considerable
benefit when I am nervous from the use of a rubber exerciser. You have
seen them perhaps?"

"Yes