cheerful Irishman with his hat on the back of his head, who showed in the
throng here and there. This was one of the days when the emigrant and
settlers' trains arrived both from the East and from "the States," and
Front Street in Lebanon had, from early morning, been alive with the
children of hope and adventure.

With hands plunged deep in the capacious pockets of his grey jacket,
Ingolby walked on, seeing everything; yet with his mind occupied
intently, too, on the trouble which must be faced before Lebanon and
Manitou would be the reciprocating engines of his policy. Coming to a
spot where a great gap of vacant land showed in the street-land which he
had bought for the new offices of his railway combine--he stood and
looked at it abstractedly. Beyond it, a few blocks away, was the
Sagalac, and beyond the Sagalac was Manitou, and a little way to the
right was the bridge which was the symbol of his policy. His eyes gazed
almost unconsciously on the people and the horses and wagons coming and
going upon the bridge. Then they were lifted to the tall chimneys rising
at two or three points on the outskirts of Manitou.

"They don't know a good thing when they get it," he said to himself.
"A strike--why, wages are double what they are in Quebec, where most of
'em come from! Marchand--"

A hand touched his arm. "Have you got a minute to spare, kind sir?"
a voice asked.

Ingolby turned and saw Nathan Rockwell, the doctor. "Ah, Rockwell," he
responded cheerfully, "two minutes and a half, if you like! What is it?"

The Boss Doctor, as he was familiarly called by every one, to identify