Jones took a cigar cautiously from the box. When the Manager offered him a match he lighted up gingerly, as though he expected the thing to blow up.
"Now, Mr. Jones, as I understand it, you want a side track put in at once. The matter of depot and other buildings will wait, but I want you to promise to let us have at least ten acres of ground. Perhaps it would be better to transfer that to us at once. I'll see" (the Manager pressed a button). "Send the chief engineer to me, George," as the chief clerk looked in.
All this time Jones smoked little short puffs, eyeing the Manager and his own cigar. When the chief engineer came in he was introduced to Mr. Jones, the man who was going to give Kansas the highest boom she had ever had.
While Jones stood in open-mouthed amazement, the Manager instructed the engineer to go to Garden City when it would suit Mr. Jones, lay out a siding that would hold fifty loads, and complete the job at the earliest possible moment.
"By the way, Mr. Jones, have you got transportation over our line?"
Mr. Jones managed to gasp the one word, "No."
"Buz-z-zz," went the bell. "George, make out an annual for Mr. Jones,—Comp. G.M."
Jones steadied himself by resting an elbow on the top of the Manager's desk. The chief engineer was writing in a little note-book.
"Now, Mr. Jones—ah, your cigar's out!—how much is this ten acres to cost us?—a thousand dollars, I believe you told Mr. Rong."
"Yes, I did tell him that; but if this is straight and no jolly, it ain't goin' to cost you a cent."