private car.

"It's one or more of the road's officials," murmured Harry.

"I hope it's Mr. Ellsworth," replied Reade, as the chums walked briskly
down to the spot where the train would have to halt.

It turned out to be the general manager, a big and capable-looking man
of fifty, with a belt-line just a trifle too large for comfort, who
swung himself to the ground the instant that the train stopped.

"I'm glad you're here, Reade," nodded the general manager, as he caught
sight of his two young engineers. "Come back into my car. We can talk
better there."

Tom and Harry mounted to the platform of the car, following Mr.
Ellsworth down the carpeted aisle of a very comfortable private Pullman
car. The general manager pointed to seats, threw himself into another,
and then said:

"Now, tell me all about the row that you've started with the town."

Harry's lips closed tightly, but Tom launched at once into a plain,
truthful account of the affair, bringing it down to the noonday meal of
the present day.

"It's not clear to me just why you should feel called upon to interfere
so forcefully," said the general manager, a little fretfully. "The
workmen are all twenty-one years of age and upwards. Couldn't they
protect themselves if they wanted protection?"