"Well, just a little, grandfather."

"Dinner will be served the moment we are off. We have only six minutes to
wait. I am afraid--I am very much afraid "--the old gentleman turned to
gaze searchingly out of the car window into the station--"that another
boy's word of honor, is not--"


He stood, watch in hand. The conductor came in and remained, awaiting
orders. "Two minutes more, Mr. Jefferson," he said. "One and a
half--one--half a minute." He spoke sternly: "Pull out at 8:14 on the
second, sir. Ah----"

The porter entered hurriedly, and delivered a handful of envelopes into
Grandfather Cornelius's grasp. The old gentleman scanned them at a glance.

"Yes, yes--all right!" he cried, with the strongest evidences of excitement
Cyrus had ever seen in his usually quiet manner. As the train made its
first gentle motion of departure, a figure appeared in the doorway.
Quietly, and not at all out of breath, Cornelius Woodbridge, Third, walked
into the car.

Then Grandfather Woodbridge grew impressive. He advanced, and shook hands
with his grandson as if he were greeting a distinguished member of the
board of directors. Then he turned to his son, and shook hands with him
also, solemnly. His eyes shone through his gold-rimmed spectacles, but his
voice was grave with feeling.

"I congratulate you, Cornelius," he said, "on possessing two sons whose
word of honor is above reproach. The smallest deviation from the outlined