Slavin sat like a statue. The one impelling motive of his life at present, it seemed, was to suggest the idea that he had weighty matters on his mind.
He looked like a being struggling with the most momentous responsibilities. His eye ran over the long array of levers as if he had been officially delegated to inspect them. His bearing was—profound.
Ralph noticed a change in his general dress. So did Knight, and in a hoarse, undertoned guffaw he observed to his young assistant:
"The spell is on, and he's got himself up regardless!"
Knight could hardly hold himself in. The old veteran had seen every phase of railroad régime and railroad vanity in his long career. At a glance he had guessed what was up with Young Slavin.
Ralph noticed that Slavin wore a new head gear. It was a direct copy of the touring cap affected by the depot master.
The top button of Slavin's coat was a brass one. It was either a conductor's or a Pullman porter's official insignia—at a distance Ralph could not tell which.
Sticking out from one of Slavin's coat pockets was an assortment of folders. Ralph recognized
