er specific questions as to any feature of any one of these
activities. All the turmoil, the rush and roar of the river, the mills,
the open lakes, the great wildernesses passed through this silent, dusty
room. The problems that kept a dozen men busy in the solving came here
also, together with a hundred others. Bob recalled his sight of the
hurried, wholesale shipping clerk he had admired when, discouraged and
discredited, he had left the office three years before. He had thought
that individual busy, and had contrasted his activity with the
somnolence of this office. Busy! Why, he, Bob, had over and over again
been ten times as busy. At the thought he chuckled aloud. Harvey and his
assistants turned to the sound.

"Hullo, Harvey; hullo Archie!" cried the young man. "I'm certainly glad
to see you. You're the only men I ever saw who could be really bang-up
rushed and never show it."

PART TWO

I

On a wintry and blustering evening in the latter part of February, 1902,
Welton and Bob boarded the Union Pacific train en route for California.
They distributed their hand baggage, then promptly took their way
forward to the buffet car, where they disposed themselves in the
leather-and-wicker armchairs for a smoke. At this time of year the
travel had fallen off somewhat in volume. The westward tourist rush had
slackened, and the train was occupied only by those who had definite
business in the Land of Promise, and by that class of wise ones who
realize that an Eastern March and April are more to be avoided than the
regulation winter months. The smoking car contained then but a
half-dozen men.

Welton and Bob took their places and lit their cigars. The train swayed
gently along, its rattle muffled by the storm. Polished black squares
represented the windows across which drifted hazy lights and ghostlike
suggestions of snowflakes. Bob watched this ebony nothingness in great
idleness of spirit. Presently one of the half-dozen men arose from his
place, walked the length of the car, and dropped into the next chair.

"You're Bob Orde, aren't you?" he remarked without preliminary.

Bob looked up. He saw before him a very heavy-set young man, of medium
height, possessed of a full moon of a face, and alert brown eyes.

"I thought so," went on this young man in answer to Bob's assent. "I'm
Baker of '93. You wouldn't know me; I was before your time. But I know
you. Seen you play. Headed for the Sunshine and Flowers