“‘Why don’t you go up there?’ said I. ‘Hook your car on to No. 5’—that was our night express for Buffalo, a long string of oil and coal cars with a baggage car, coach, and sleeper on the end of it. It ran over our line and into Buffalo over the Southeastern.
“‘All right, Hen,’ said he. ‘Will you go along?’
“‘Sure,’ I told him.
“On our way out we picked up Charlie Greenman too. He was superintendent of the State Line Division—tall, thin man, very nervous, Charlie was.
“Next morning, when we were sitting over our breakfast in the Swift House, the old man turned his good eye on me and said, ‘Well, Hen, what next?’ I’d brought him up there, you see, and now he was looking for results.
“‘Well,’ said I, speaking slow and sort of thinking it over, ‘look here, Mister MacBayne, why don’t you get a horse and buggy and look around the city? They say it’s a pretty place. Or you could pick up a boat, you and Charlie, and go sailing on Lake Erie. Or you might run over and see the falls—Ever been there?’
“The old man was looking on both sides of me with those two eyes of his. ‘What are you up to, Hen?’ he said.
“‘Nothing,’ I answered, ‘not a thing. But say, Mister MacBayne, I forgot to bring any money. Let me have a little, will you,—about a hundred and fifty?’
“When I said that, the old man gulped, and looked almost scared. I saw then, just what I’d suspected, that he wouldn’t be the least use to me. I’d ‘a’ done better to have left him behind. ‘Why, yes, Hen,’ said he, ‘I can let you have that!’ He went out, and pretty soon he came back with the money in a big roll of small bills.