master mechanic of
the worst run division you've seen in twenty years right now, if you
want it--h'm?"

H. Herrington Campbell was gallingly preoccupied.

"How long are we stalled here for--the rest of the night?" he inquired
irrelevantly.

Regan stared at him a moment--still apoplectic.

"I've ordered them to run the forward end of the freight to Eagle Pass,
and take you down," he said, choking a little. "There's a couple of
flats left whole that you can pile yourselves and your baggage on, and
down there they'll make up a new train for you."

"Oh, very good," said H. Herrington Campbell curtly.

And ten minutes later, the Directors' Special, metamorphosed into a
string of box cars with two flats trailing on the rear, on which the
newly elected board of the Transcontinental sat, some on their baggage,
and some with their legs hanging over the sides, pulled away from the
wreck and headed down the grade for Eagle Pass. Funny, the transition
from the luxurious leather upholstery of the observation to an angry,
chattering mob of magnates, clinging to each others' necks as they
jounced on the flooring of an old flat? Well perhaps--it depends on
how you look at it. Regan looked at it--and Regan grinned for the pure
savagery that was in him.

"But I guess," said Regan to himself, as he watched them go, "I guess
mabbe I'll be looking for that job on the Penn after all--h'm?"

Everybody talked about the Directors' Special run--naturally. And,
naturally, everybody wondered what was going to come from it. It was
an open secret that Regan had handed one to the general manager without
any candy coating on the pill, and the Hill Division sort of looked to
see the master mechanic's head fall and Regan go. But Regan did not
go; and, for that matter, nothing else happened--for a while.

Carleton came back and got the rights of it from Regan--and said
nothing to Regan about his reply to H. Herrington Campbell's letter, in
which he had stated that if they were looking for a new master mechanic
there would be a division superintendency vacant at the same time. The
day man at Mitre Peak quit railroading--without waiting for an
investigation. Old Dan MacCaffery and Billy Dawes went back to their
regular run with the 304. And the division generally settled down
again to its daily routine--and from the perspective of distance, if
the truth be told, got to grinning reminiscently at the run the Big
Bugs had had for their m