He touched his broad hat, and she returned to the house to dress.
Meanwhile Colonel Pennington had reached the crossing once more, simultaneously with the arrival of Sam Perkins, the chief of police, accompanied by two automobiles crammed with patrolmen. Perkins strutted up to Bryce Cardigan and Buck Ogilvy.
“What's the meaning of all this row, Mr. Cardigan?” he demanded.
“Something has slipped, Sam,” Bryce retorted pleasantly. “You've been calling me Bryce for the past twenty years, and now you're mistering me! The meaning of this row, you ask?” Bryce continued. “Well, I'm engaged in making a jump-crossing of Colonel Pennington's tracks, under a temporary franchise granted me by the city of Sequoia. Here's the franchise.” And he thrust the document under the police chief's nose.
“This is the first I've heard about any franchise,” Sam Perkins replied suspiciously. “Seems to me you been mighty secret about this job. How do I know this ain't a forgery?”
“Call up the mayor and ask him,” Bryce suggested.
“I'll do that,” quoth Mr. Perkins ponderously. “And in the meantime, don't do any more digging or rail-cutting.” He hurried away to his automobile, leaving a lieutenant in charge of the squad.
“Also in the meantime, young man,” Colonel Pennington announced, “you will pardon me if I take possession of my locomotive and flat-cars. I observe you have finished unloading those rails.”
“Help yourself, Colonel,” Bryce replied with an assumption of heartiness he was far from feeling.
“Thank you so much, Cardigan.” With the greatest good nature in life, Pennington climbed into the cab, reached for the bell-cord, and rang the bell vigorously. Then he permitted himself a triumphant toot of the whistle, after which he threw off the air and gently opened the throttle. He was not a locomotive-engineer but he had ridden in the cab of his own locomotive and felt quite confident of his ability in a pinch.