How do you do, Mr. Vane? I don't remember ever to have had the pleasure
of seeing you, although your father and I have been intimately connected
for many years."

So the president's manner was hearty, but not the substance. It came,
Austen thought, from a rarity of meeting with men on a disinterested
footing; and he could not but wonder how Mr. Flint would treat the angels
in heaven if he ever got there, where there were no franchises to be had.
Would he suspect them of designs upon his hard won harp and halo? Austen
did not dislike Mr. Flint; the man's rise, his achievements, his
affection for his daughter, he remembered. But he was also well aware
that Mr. Flint had thrown upon him the onus of the first move in a game
which the railroad president was used to playing every day. The dragon
was on his home ground and had the choice of weapons.

"I do not wish to bother you long," said Austen.

"No bother," answered Mr. Flint, "no bother to make the acquaintance of
the son of my old friend, Hilary Vane. Sit down--sit down. And while I
don't believe any man should depend upon his father to launch him in the
world, yet it must be a great satisfaction to you, Mr. Vane, to have such
a father. Hilary Vane and I have been intimately associated for many
years, and my admiration for him has increased with every year. It is to
men of his type that the prosperity, the greatness, of this nation is
largely due,--conservative, upright, able, content to confine himself to
the difficult work for which he is so eminently fitted, without
spectacular meddling in things in which he can have no concern. Therefore
I welcome the opportunity to know you, sir, for I understand that you
have settled down to follow in his footsteps and that you will make a
name for yourself. I know the independence of young men--I was young once
myself. But after all, Mr. Vane, experience is the great teacher, and
perhaps there is some little advice which an old man can give you that
may be of service. As your father's son, it is always at your disposal.
Have a cigar."

The thin secretary continued to flit about the room, between the
letter-files and the desk. Austen had found it infinitely easier to shoot
Mr. Blodgett than to engage in a duel with the president of the United
Railroad.

"I smoke a pipe," he said.

"Too many young men smoke cigars--and those disgusting cigarettes," said
Mr. Flint, with conviction. "There are a lot of worthless young men in
t