The man nodded. “I guess so.—They say he ’s a good deal broken, though—works too hard?”
“He works harder than any man I ever saw,” replied John.
“Begins to tell on him, don’t it?” The man seemed to be watching a fly on the window.
“You mean—?” John’s face expressed slow interest.
“I mean he ’s about used up,” said the manager, flashing a look at him.
John shook his head, and the slow smile grew in his face. “You think he ’s used up and then you find—he is n’t. That’s the kind of man President Tetlow is.”
The manager gave a dry smile. “I’ve noticed that ’s the kind he is, myself.” He turned suddenly, his eyes boring into the young man. “What ’s all this bother about rates this year!” he asked. “Don’t he know the roads can’t stand it?”
“He thinks the country can’t stand it,” said John.
“The country!” The man stared at him, moistening his lips a little with his tongue. He shook his head. “Never heard of the country before,” he said.
John smiled. “President Tetlow wants to make the ‘R. and Q.’ a benefit to the region.” The man sat back in his chair. He spread his legs a little. Then he opened his mouth. He laughed. There was affectation in the laugh, perhaps, but beneath it was solid amusement and scorn. “Sim Tetlow—philanthropist!” He shook his head,—“Look out for him!” he said.