"Is he going soon?"
"He is gone."
The young woman knelt by her father's chair and bowed her head upon his knee, quivering with grief.
This stern man, who had humped himself and made a million, put a hand on her head and said:
"Ma-Mary"—and then choked up.
II
The tent boy put a small white card down on General Dodge's desk one morning, upon which was printed:
J. Bradford, C.E.
The General, who was at that time chief engineer in charge of the construction of the first Pacific Railroad, turned the bit of pasteboard over. It seemed so short and simple. He ran his eyes over a printed list, alphabetically arranged, of directors, promoters, statesmen, capitalists, and others who were in the habit of signing "letters of recommendation" for young men who wanted to do something and begin well up the ladder.
There were no Bradfords. Burgess and Blodgett were the only B's, and the General was glad. His desk was constantly littered with the "letters" of tenderfeet, and his office-tent filled with their portmanteaus, holding dress suits and fine linen.