“You must let me reimburse what expense we have put you to, Mr. Gordon. I only wish I could as easily repay your kindness.”
Nodding my head in assent, as well as in recognition of his thanks, I continued, “It was my duty, as an official of the K. & A., to recover the stolen mail, and I had to do it.”
“We understand that,” said Mr. Cullen, “and do not for a moment blame you.”
“But,” I went on, for the first time looking at Madge, “it is not my duty to take part in a contest for control of the K. & A., and I shall therefore act in this case as I should in any other loss of mail.”
“And that is—?” asked Frederic.
“I am about to telegraph for instructions from Washington,” I replied. “As the G. S. by trickery has dishonestly tied up some of your proxies, they ought not to object if we do the same by honest means; and I think I can manage so that Uncle Sam will prevent those proxies from being voted at Ash Forks on Friday.”
If a galvanic battery had been applied to the group about the breakfast table, it wouldn’t have made a bigger change. Madge clapped her hands in joy; Mr. Cullen said “God bless you!” with real feeling; Frederic jumped up and slapped me on the shoulder, crying, “Gordon, you’re the biggest old trump breathing;” while Albert and the captain shook hands with each other, in evident jubilation. Only Lord Ralles remained passive.
“Have you breakfasted?” asked Mr. Cullen, when the first joy was over.
“Yes,” I said. “I only stopped in on my way to the station to telegraph the Postmaster-General.”
“May I come with you and see what you say?” cried Fred, jumping up.