back. Mr. Flint looked up from his desk, and his face, previously bereft
of illumination, lighted when he saw his daughter. Austen liked that in
him.

"Well, Vic, what is it now?" he asked.

"Mr. Austen Vane to see you," said Victoria, and with a quick glance at
Austen she left him standing on the threshold. Mr. Flint rose. His eyes
were deep-set in a square, hard head, and he appeared to be taking Austen
in without directly looking at him; likewise, one felt that Mr. Flint's
handshake was not an absolute gift of his soul.

"How do you do, Mr. Vane? I don't remember ever to have had the pleasure
of seeing you, although your father and I have been intimately connected
for many years."

So the president's manner was hearty, but not the substance. It came,
Austen thought, from a rarity of meeting with men on a disinterested
footing; and he could not but wonder how Mr. Flint would treat the angels
in heaven if he ever got there, where there were no franchises to be had.
Would he suspect them of designs upon his hard won harp and halo? Austen
did not dislike Mr. Flint; the man's rise, his achievements, his
affection for his daughter, he remembered. But he was also well aware
that Mr. Flint had thrown upon him the onus of the first move in a game
which the railroad president was used to playing every day. The dragon
was on his home ground and had the choice of weapons.

"I do not wish to bother you long," said Austen.

"No bother," answered Mr. Flint, "no bother to make the acquaintance of