"Yes," said the President of the Santa Fé, "I've seen Jones."
The General Manager was glad, for that took the matter from his hands and took the responsibility from his drooping shoulders.
About the time the President got his mind fixed upon the affairs of the road again, Colonel Holiday came in. Like the Honorable gentleman, he too entered by the private door unannounced; for he was the Father of the Santa Fé. Placing his high hat top side down on the table, the Colonel folded his hands over the golden head of his cane and inquired of the President if he had seen Jones.
The President assured the Colonel, who in addition to being the Father of the road was a director.
The Colonel picked up his hat and went out, feeling considerable relief: for his friend in the State Senate had informed him at the Ananias Club on the previous evening, that Jones was going to make trouble for the road. The Colonel knew that a good, virtuous man with money to spend could make trouble for anything or anybody, working quietly and unobtrusively among the equally virtuous members of the State legislature. The Colonel had been a member of that august body.
In a little while the General Manager came back; and with him came O'Marity, the road-master.
"I thought you said you had seen Jones," the General Manager began.
Now the President, who was never known to be really angry, wheeled on his revolving chair.
"I—have—seen Jones."
"Well, O'Marity says Jones has not been 'seen.' His friend, who comes down from Atchison every Sunday night on O'Marity's hand-car, has been good enough to tell O'Marity just what has been going on in the House. There must be some mistake. It seems to me that if this man Jones had been seen properly, he would subside. What's the matter with your friend—Ah, here comes the Honorable gentleman now."