"This way, Fairbanks."
He placed a hand on the shoulder of the young engineer and looked him earnestly in the eye.
"I know you and your record," he said. "Is that your regular fireman?" indicating Fogg.
"Yes, sir, Lemuel Fogg. We're on No. 999, Overland Express."
"Yes, yes, I know," spoke Mr. Grant hurriedly. "Mr. Fogg!"
The fireman approached promptly.
"My friends," continued the official rapidly to both. "I have got to reach Shelby station by 10.15. I must catch the Night Express on the Midland Central at that point—without fail," added Mr. Grant with emphasis.
"Yes, sir," nodded Fogg coolly.
"One minute late means the loss of a great big fortune to the Great Northern. The minute on time means anything in reason you two may ask, if you make the run."
"We are here to make the run, Mr. Grant, if you say so," observed Ralph.
"Sure," supplemented Fogg, taking off his coat. "Is that the order, sir?"
"I haven't the heart to order any man on a run a night like this," responded the official, "but if you mean it"
