e no remittance in my
case."

Denman glanced at the firm, closed lips and the stiffening figure.

"That is the talk!" he exclaimed. "No, there is no chance in ranching
unless you have capital."

"As far as I can see," replied Cameron gloomily, "everything seems
closed up except to the capitalist, and yet from what I heard at home
situations were open on every hand in this country."

"Come here!" cried Denman, drawing Cameron to the office window. "See
those doors!" pointing to a long line of shops. "Every last one is
opened to a man who knows his business. See those smokestacks! Every
last wheel in those factories is howling for a man who is on to his job.
But don't look blue, there is a place for you, too; the thing is to find
it."

"What are those long buildings?" inquired Cameron, pointing towards the
water front.

"Those are railroad sheds; or, rather, Transportation Company's sheds;
they are practically the same thing. I say! What is the matter with
trying the Transportation Company? I know the manager well. The very
thing! Try the Transportation Company!"

"How should I go about it?" said Cameron. "I mean to say just what
position should I apply for?"

"Position!" shouted Denman. "Why, general manager would be good!"

Then, noting the flush in Cameron's face, he added quickly, "Pardon me!
The thing is to get your foot in somehow, and then wire in till you are
general manager, by Jove! It can be done! Fleming has done it! Went in
as messenger boy, but--" Denman paused. There flashed through his mind
the story of Fleming's career; a vision of the half-starved ragged waif
who started as messenger boy in the company's offices, and who, by dint
of invincible determination and resolute self-denial, fought his way
step by step to his present position of control. In contrast, he looked
at the young man, born and bred in circles where work is regarded as
a calamity, and service wears the badge of social disfranchisement.
Fleming had done it under compulsion of the inexorable mistress
"Necessity." But what of this young man?

"Will we try?" he said at length. "I shall give you a letter to Mr.
Fleming."

He sat down to his desk and wrote vigourously.

"Take this, and see what happens."

Cameron took the letter, and, glancing at the address, read, Wm.
Fleming, Esquire, General Manager, Metropolitan Transportation & Cartage
Company.

"Is this a railroad?" asked Cameron.

"No, but next thing to it. The comp