Apparently there was some uncertainty back in the office of the superintendent. A red-faced man, with a handkerchief around his neck, ran out with an order; whereupon an engine backed in, coupled up to the first car, and whistled impatiently. But they did not go. Half an hour passed, and the red-faced man ran out again, and the engine uncoupled, snorted, rang its bell, and disappeared whence it had come.
At length two men—Peet, the superintendent, and Tiffany, chief engineer of the railroad—walked down the platform together, and addressed a stocky man with a close-cut gray mustache and a fixed frown, who stood beside the rear car.
“Peet says he can’t wait any longer, Mr. Vandervelt,” said Tiffany.
“Can’t help that,” replied Vandervelt.
“But you’ve got to help it!” cried Peet. “What are you waiting for, anyway?”
“If you think we’re starting without Paul Carhart, you’re mistaken.”
“Carhart! Who is Carhart?”
“That’s all right,” Tiffany put in. “He’s in charge of the construction.”
“I don’t care what he is! This train—”