Jimmy the Wind | Page 2

was trod upon.
The postmaster-general was inclined, from the reputation we had, to
look on our chap as a man looks at a dog without a pedigree, or at a
dray horse in a bunch of standard breeds. But something in the mouth
of the West End man gave him pause; since the Rough Riders. It has
been a bit different about verdicts on things Western. The
postmaster-general suppressed a rising sarcasm with a sip of Chartreuse,
for the dinner was ripening, and waited; nor did he mistake -- the West
Ender was about to speak.
"Why west of the Missouri?" he asked, with a lift of the face that was
not altogether candid. The Pennsylvania man shrugged his brows; to
explain might have seemed indelicate.

"If it is put through, how much of it do you propose to take yourself?"
inquired our man, looking evenly at the Alleghany official.
"Sixty-five miles, including stops from the New York post-office to
Canal Street," replied the Pennsylvania man, and his words flowed with
irritating smoothness and ease.
"What do you take?" continued the man with the jaw, turning to the
Burlington representative, who was struggling, belated, with an
artichoke.
"About seventy from Canal to Tenth and Mason. Say, seventy,"
repeated the "Q" manager, with the lordliness of a man who has miles
to throw at almost anybody, and knows it.
"Then suppose we say sixty-five from Tenth and Mason to Ogden,"
suggested the West Ender. There was a well-bred stare the table round,
a lifting of glasses to mask expressions that might give pain. Sixty-five
miles an hour? Through the Rockies?
But the postmaster-general struck the table quickly and heavily; he
didn't want to let it get away. "Why, hang it, Mr. Bucks," he exclaimed
with emphasis, "if you will say sixty, the business is done. We don't ask
you to do the Rockies in the time these fellows take to cut the
Alleghanies. Do sixty, and I will put mail in 'Frisco a day earlier every
week in the year."
"Nothing on the West End to keep you from doing it," said General
Manager Bucks. He had been put up then only about six months. "But
-- "
Every one looked at the young manager. The Pennsylvania man looked
with confidence, for he instantly suspected there must be a string to
such a proposition, or that the new representative was "talking through
his hat."
"But what?" asked the Cabinet member, uncomfortably apprehensive.

"But we are not putting on a sixty-five mile schedule just because we
love our country, you understand, nor to lighten an already glorious
reputation. Oh, no," smiled Bucks faintly, "we are doing it for the stuff.
You put up the money; we put up the speed. Not sixty miles; sixty-five
-- from the Missouri to the Sierras. No; no more wine. Yes, thank you, I
will take a cigar."
The trade was on from that minute. Bucks said no more then; he was a
good listener. But next day -- when it came to talking money -- he
talked more money into the West End treasury for one year's running
than was ever talked before on a mail contract for the best three years'
work we ever did.
When they asked him how much time he wanted to get ready, and told
him to take plenty, three months were stipulated. The contracts were
drawn, and they were signed by our people without hesitation because
they knew Bucks. But while the preparations for the fast schedule were
being made, the Government weakened on signing. Nothing ever got
through a Washington department without hitch, and they said our road
had so often failed on like propositions that they wanted a test. There
was a deal of wrangling, then a test run was agreed upon by all the
roads concerned. If it proved successful -- if the mail was put to the
Golden Gate on the second of the schedule -- public opinion and the
interests in the Philippines, it was concluded, would justify the heavy
premium asked for the service.
In this way the dickering and the figuring became, in a measure, public,
and keyed up everybody interested to a high pitch. We said nothing for
publication, but under Bucks' energy sawed wood for three whole
months. Indeed, three months goes as a day getting a system into shape
for an extraordinary schedule. Success meant with us prestige; but
failure meant obloquy for the road and for our division chief who had
been so lately called to handle it.
The real strain, it was clear, would come on his old -- the mountain --
division; and to carry out the point rested on the motive power of the
mountain division; hence, concretely, on Doubleday, master mechanic
of the hill country.

In thirty days