SIMEON was tearing open his morning’s mail, fussing and . “There ’s another—” He tossed it to John.  
The young man read it without comment. It was from the farmers of Horn County—the second within a month—accusing the road of keeping back cars to force up rates.
 
“They’ve had their share,” Simeon from his mail.
 
“More, too,” said John. He his brow a little. “No. 8 brought in thirty-five empties yesterday,” he said slowly.
 
Simeon wheeled a little, “Where to?”
 
“Somers—most of them.”
 
“And Somers shall have ’em,” said Simeon. He wheeled back again. “Let the Elk Horners run a road of their own. They know so much. Let their press agent get at it—Make cars out o’ wind and haul ’em with talk.” He again into the mail, tearing and his way through. Suddenly there was silence in the room—A long hush—
 
The young man looked around.
 
The president of the road was a little forward, his eyes on a letter that his shaking hands tried in vain to steady.
 
John stepped quickly to his side. But the man did not look up. His eyes seemed glued to the few lines that covered the page. When the shaking hand dropped to the desk, he sat staring at nothing where the lines had been.
 
John went out noiselessly and mixed an egg and placed it beside him. He knew from the look in Simeon’s face that he had not slept, and he guessed that he had had no breakfast.
 
“You ’d better take this, sir,” he said quietly.
 
Simeon’s hand groped a little toward it and drew back. “I tell you I can’t see him,” he said sharply.
 
“Who is it, sir?”
 
“Nixon—” He touched the paper beside him. “He wants to talk over rates. I tell you I can’t see him—I can’t!” It was almost a cry.
 
The young man took up the letter. “Perhaps you won’t need to, sir.” His slow eyes were on the words. “It’s only the rates,” he said thoughtfully.
 
“Do you believe it?” The president of the road leaned toward him a little, the words at him. “He says what he wants is an appointment for seeing me!” He lifted the haggard face, the bitter laugh drawing back the thin lips from his teeth. “What do you think our stock ’d be worth the next day? I tell you it ’s a trap!” He lifted his shaking hand. He looked at the light through it. “He wants to see me!” he repeated bitterly. “Let him come,” he said ; “let him—” The hand dropped to the desk. “I ’ve lost my nerve, John!” he whispered helplessly. “I’ve lost my nerve!”
 
“Better take your egg, sir,” said John.
 
Simeon reached out blindly and it down. His hand quivered as he wiped the little yellow line from his lips.
 
John’s eyes were on............