That evening at dinner, after Eleanor had given her father an account of her day, with which she always beguiled him, including a description of her visit to the two old ladies, she suddenly asked, "Father, what railroad was it that used to be known as the Transcontinental Something and Something?'"
"The what?"
"The 'Transcontinental Something and Something Else?' It was about sixty miles long, and was bought up by some bigger road and reorganized."
"I suppose you mean the 'Transcontinental, North-western and Great Iron Range Road.' That about meets the condition you mention. What do you know about it?"
"Was it reorganized?"
"Yes; about twenty years ago, and again about ten years ago. I never quite understood the last reorganization. Mr. Argand had it done—and bought up most of the stock."
"Was any one squeezed out?"
"Sure—always are in such cases. That is the object of a reorganization—partly. Why are you so interested in it?" Mr. Leigh's countenance wore an amused look.
"I have two friends—old ladies—who lost everything they had in it."
"I guess it wasn't much. What is their name?"