"Not precisely," said Montague, producing a card. "Will you kindly
send this to Mr. Hegan?"

"Do you know Mr. Hegan personally?" the man demanded.

"I do," Montague answered.

The other had made no sign, as far as Montague could make out, but
at this moment a dapper young secretary made his appearance from the
doors behind the gate. "Would you kindly state the business upon
which you wish to see Mr. Hegan?" he said.

"I wish to see Mr. Hegan personally," Montague answered, with just a
trifle of asperity, "If you will kindly take in this card, it will
be sufficient."

He submitted with what grace he could to a swift inspection at the
secretary's hands, wondering, in the meantime, if his new spring
overcoat was sufficiently up-to-date to entitle him, in the
secretary's judgment, to be a friend of the great man within.
Finally the man disappeared with the card, and half a minute later
came back, smiling effusively. He ushered Montague into a huge
office with leather-cushioned chairs large enough to hold several
people each, and too large for any one person to be comfortable in.
There was a map of the continent upon the wall, across which Jim
Hegan's railroads stretched like scarlet ribbons. There were also
heads of bison and reindeer, which Hegan had shot himself.

Montague had to wait only a minute or two, and then he was escorted