"Cyrus, lad," he said, his face one broad, triumphant smile, "you have stood the test—the Hezekiah Woodbridge test, sir—and you may be proud of it. Your word of honour can be depended upon. You are going with us through nineteen states and Mexico. Is that reward enough for one day's hardship?"
"I think it is, sir," agreed Cyrus, his round face reflecting his grandfather's smile, intensified.
"Was it a hard pull, Cyrus?" questioned the elder Woodbridge with interest.
Cyrus looked at his father. "I don't think so—now, sir," he said. Both gentlemen laughed.
"Are you hungry?"
"Well, just a little, grandfather."
"Dinner will be served the moment we are off. We've only six minutes to wait. I'm afraid—I'm very much afraid"—the old gentleman turned to gaze searchingly out of the car window into the station—"that another boy's word of honour isn't——"
He stood, watch in hand. The conductor came in and remained, awaiting orders. "Two minutes more, Mr. Jefferson," he said. "One and a half——one half a minute." He spoke sternly: "Pull out at 8:14 on the second, sir. Ah——"
The porter entered hurriedly, and delivered a handful of envelopes into Grandfather Cornelius's grasp. The old gentleman scanned them at a glance.
"Yes—yes—all right!" he cried, with the strongest evidences of excitement Cyrus had ever seen in his usually imperturbable manner. As the train made its first gentle motion of departure, a figure appeared in the doorway. Quietly, not at all out of breath, and with precisely his own nonchalant manner, Cornelius Woodbridge 3d walked into the car.