Tim’s statement seemed to be somewhat clouded in metaphor, but Gail managed to gather that Allison had possibly used first-principle methods on his royal pathway to success.
“You mean that he drove them out of business.”
“Pushed ’em off!” and Tim’s voice was exultant.
“I don’t think I understand business,” worried Gail. “It seems so cruel.”
“So is baseball, if you want to figure that it’s a shame the losers have to take a licking,” chuckled Tim. “Anybody Allison likes is lucky,” and with the friendly familiarity of an old man, Tim Corman patted Gail on the glove.
“It occurs to me that I’m neglecting my opportunities,” observed Gail, rising. “I’m supposed to be running this car,” and going to the glass door she looked into the motorman’s compartment, which was large, and had seats in it, and all sorts of mysterious tools and appliances in the middle of the floor.
Tim Corman, as Allison’s personal representative, was right on the spot.
“Come on out,” he invited, and opened the door, whereupon the three responsible looking men immediately arose.
Gail hesitated, then smiled. She turned to look at the others, half wondering if she should invite them to come, and whether a crowd would be welcomed, but the quartette were gathered on the observation platform, watching the tunnel swallowing itself in a faraway point.
“Mr. Greggory, general manager of the Municipal Transportation Company, Miss Sargent,” introduced Tim, and the fat man bowed, with still another portion of that secret opinion removed. “Mr. Lincoln, general engineer of the Transportation Company, Miss Sargent,” and the thin-faced man with the high forehead and the little French moustache, bowed, smiling his decided approval. “Mr. McCarthy, general construction manager of the Transportation Company, Miss Sargent,” and the red-faced man with the big red moustache, bowed, grinning. Tim Corman led Gail forward to the motorman, and tapped him on the shoulder. “Show her how it works, Tom,” he directed.