The boy looked up, startled. “What, sir!”
The president nodded slowly. “To turn a switch, I suppose—” The thin hand lifted to his lips was trembling now as a leaf quivers at a sudden wind.
“Some one else would have seen,” said the boy quickly.
“Nobody sees—but you.” He crunched out the words. “When are you coming back?”
“Back!”
“To the office—I need you.” He gulped a little over the words. He had never said as much to any one.
The lamps, with their still glow, were turned toward him. “I want to come, sir.”
“Well?”
“We talked it over last night—She wants me to do it—She will come with me—But—”
The president of the road was looking down now—waiting.