“But the date,” said Sprague, with the amiable persistence which was one of his chief characteristics. “When will the current be turned on?”
“Stribling sends word that he will be ready to cut the power in on the tunnel wires to-morrow evening at six o’clock, and asks if I’m going to be on hand to see it done.”
Sprague was deftly clipping the tip from one of the cigars which the waiter had brought, preparatory to lighting it.
“Do you happen to have a time-table in your pocket?” he asked.
Maxwell had one, and he passed it across the table. The Government man postponed the lighting of his cigar and began to turn the leaves of the official schedule hand-book. At the pages listing the trains on the Hophra Division he paused and ran his finger slowly down the columns giving the movement of traffic to and through Tunnel Number Three.
“You would have to leave here early in the afternoon to reach the tunnel by six—or rather to be there at six—wouldn’t you?” he asked, returning the time-table.
Maxwell shook his head and smiled. “You forget that I’m not tied to regular trains on my own piece of railroad,” he suggested. “I couldn’t afford to go up on Three and spend two or three hours loafing around. If I go, I shall order out a car and engine and make a quick job of it. It is only sixty-three miles, and I can make it special in an hour and thirty minutes or thereabouts.”
“I see,” said Sprague reflectively. “Leaving Brewster about three-thirty, say?”
“Yes; that would be plenty early enough.”
“But you don’t know yet whether you will go at all?”