or found one of our
subsidiary companies being led astray by unseen hands, or a big contract
slippin' away mysterious, the word was always passed to "watch the
Runyon interests." And I'll admit that when the Corrugated saw an
openin' to put a crimp in a Runyon deal, or overbid 'em on a franchise,
or crack a ripe egg on one of their bond issues, we only waited long
enough for it to get dark before gettin' busy. Oh, yes, we was real
chummy that way.

And then again, with the Runyon system touchin' ours in so many spots,
we had a lot of open daylight dealin's. We interlocked here and there;
we had joint leases, trackage agreements, and so on, where we was just
as trustin' of each other as a couple of gentlemen crooks dividin' the
souvenirs after an early mornin' call at a country-house.

This terminal business Old Hickory had mentioned was a sample. Course, I
only knew about it in a vague sort of way: something about ore docks up
on the Lakes. Anyway, it was a case where the Runyon people had hogged
the waterfront and was friskin' us for tonnage charges on every steamer
we loaded.

I know it was something that had to be renewed annual, for I'd heard Mr.
Ellins beefin' about it more'n once. Last year, I remember, he was worse
than usual, which was accounted for later by the fact that the ton rate
had been jumped a couple of cents. And now it had been almost doubled.
No wonder he wanted a confab with Marcus T. on the subject. And, from
where I stood, it looked like he ought to have it, grouch or no grouch.

"Bixby," says I, "Mr. Ellins would just grieve himself sick if this
reunion he's planned don't come off. Now, what's the best you can do?"

"If Mr. Ellins could come to the private car----" begins Bixby.

"Say," I breaks in, "you wouldn't ask him to climb over freight-cars and
dodge switch-engines just for old times' sake, would you?"

Bixby holds up both hands and registers painful protest.

"By no means," says he. "We would send the limousine for Mr. Ellins,
have it wait his convenience, and drive him directly to the car steps. I
think I can arrange the interview for any time between two-thirty and
four o'clock this afternoon."

"Now, that's talkin'!" says I. "I'll see what I can do with the boss.
Wait, will you?"

Oh, boy, though! That was about as tough a job as I ever tackled. Old
Hickory still has his neck feathers ruffled, and he's chewin' savage on
a black cigar when I go in to slip him the soothin' sy