“I’m glad,” returned the wealthy wheat-man. “When I learned, upon my arrival in Waterville, where Simmons had gone, I hurried as fast as I could.”
“Deputy, arrest Silas Hopkins!” roared the land agent.
But the man, realizing the millionaire’s presence had some important meaning, made no move.
“Now see here, Simmons, just keep quiet, or I’ll have you arrested,” advised Mr. Hopkins; then turning to Andy, he asked: “Where is Mrs. Porter?”
“I am Mrs. Porter,” replied the little woman, stepping forward with a quiet dignity, though she knew not what was in store for her.
“I am delighted to meet you,” smiled the wheat-man, shaking her hand, “and I am more sorry than I can express that you should have been subjected to such treatment. But the West is no different from other sections of the country, we have rascals here as well as elsewhere. I—”
“Deputy, will you—” began the land agent, purple with fury.
“No, he won’t, Simmons,” snapped Mr. Hopkins. “Pardon me, Mrs. Porter, while I deal with this fellow and put an end to his interruptions. Simmons, you no longer have any power. Here is the order removing you from office,” and he handed the astonished man a much be-sealed document, “and here is your appointment as land agent for the district of Waterville, Andy,” he smiled, extending another document to the station agent.
For a moment there was silence, while the men and women drank in the meaning of the words, then came a roar of shouts and exclamations of approval.
“W-why didn’t this come by mail, in the usual way?” demanded Simmons, during a lull.