But the conference, which any reporter in Chicago would have given his ears to hear, was a quiet one. The Governor dominated the situation, and at the very outset he made this clear. In his dealings with the Intelligent Voter he was wont to call a spade by many high-sounding names, but when he chose he could call it a spade, and he did choose so to do this afternoon.

The road, he said, was for the present in the hands of the State. Every station was guarded by a detail of State troops who had instructions to pay no attention to any writs from any court whatever. In every case they were to respect actual possession, and to allow the routine work of running the road to be carried on by the men they found in charge. This state of things would continue until the Governor was fully convinced that there would be no further attempt by either party to obtain possession of the road by force.

The Governor went on to point out that a continuation of this arrangement was against the interest of both parties, as it brought the affairs of the road into unpleasant prominence, and every added day of it antagonized the people more, and might eventually lead to some rather drastic legislation which would hurt every road in the State.

The courts would of course settle the question of possession in time, but meanwhile some sort of an understanding must be reached. The Governor proposed as a solution of the difficulty that the two men should jointly sign a paper he had drawn up.

It was a pet.i.tion addressed to the Governor himself, asking him to appoint one or more men to act as receivers of the road until the suits should be settled by the regular process of law. The men to be appointed were to be allies of neither party in the fight. Both parties agreed to refrain from any further attempts to use force in getting possession of the road.

Weeks readily, and Porter after a moment of hesitation, signed the paper, and the Governor announced that his appointment would be made immediately.

It was then arranged that the regular annual election of directors, which was due on the following Tuesday, should be held as usual. After the legal questions were settled, the Governor's commission would turn over the road to the newly elected board.

When the conference was over, and it had not been a long one, the two warring railway magnates, who in the past week had set the whole State by the ears, rose and politely took their leave. As they went down in the elevator together, Weeks remarked,--

"Autumn seems to have taken hold early this year."

"Yes," answered Porter, "it's extremely disagreeable weather. I have my carriage here. May I save you a walk?"

"No, thanks," said Jim; "I'm not going far."

When they parted at the door they did not shake hands, but there was nothing in their manner to indicate that they had not just met for the first time at an afternoon tea.

Jim went straight to his office, told Pease that he must not be disturbed, and settled himself to some hard thinking. That afternoon had materially changed the situation, and had for the most part simplified it. There was no further necessity for guarding against force. There was no longer anything to be apprehended from the legal juggling of Judge Black, for the Governor's interposition had rendered him quite harmless. When the case was tried it would be before an unprejudiced court. The seizure of the road by the militia had come at the right moment for Jim, for it left his employees in possession as far down as Sawyerville.

The longer Jim thought, the simpler the problem became. He must bring about the election of his board of directors. As matters stood he could accomplish this only by voting the nine thousand shares of new stock he had issued the week before, thus giving Porter a more or less strong case against him. But if he could command a majority of the stock without this, there would be absolutely nothing for the courts to decide, and Tuesday evening would see him completely victorious. And so, for the first time that week, Jim turned the whole force of his attention to the Tillman City stock.

It was just ten days since he had instructed Bridge to find out what was at the bottom of Blaney's defiance, and in that time he had heard no word from his lieutenant. There were but three days more.

If it were his habit to act on impulse, as his wonderful quickness led men to believe, he would have gone straight to Tillman City, and carried on his fight there in person. But on reflection he concluded that his presence there would be likely to ruin whatever schemes Bridge might be working out. "I'll wait a little longer," he thought.

Bridge was in the hospital. His landlady had found him in his room about an hour after the fever overtook him, and visions of a red quarantine card on her door-post had such disquieting force that in an incredibly short time the doctor and the oldest boarder were carrying the unconscious politician wrapped in a pair of blankets to the carriage which was to take him thither.

Tillman City was proud of its hospital, and the nursing and the medical attention which Bridge received were as good as they could have been. But after all it seemed to make little difference, for the fever raged in him in spite of all efforts to break it. He lay, utterly insensible to his surroundings, the object of the curiosity, as well as the kindness, of those about him; for scarlet fever in a man, especially so severe a case, is enough out of the ordinary to be interesting. Sometimes his delirium became so violent that men had to hold him down to the bed, but for the most of the time he simply rolled and tossed, moaning softly or chattering unintelligible syllables.

Wednesday evening his fever was slightly lower and he lay comparatively quiet. Sitting by the screen which kept the light of the night lamp from his eyes was Grace Burns. She had been a nurse only a little while, and to her Bridge was not a case but a man. She felt a great pity for the pathetic figure on the bed and, when she saw that it was good for him to have her by, she spent more than half the hours of the twenty-four watching him. She was a young woman, not yet thirty, and she had the poise which comes from nerves that are never out of tune. Some of her nervous strength she seemed to impart to him, and he was rarely violent while under her care.

Now as she watched him she saw him throw back the covers and sit up on the edge of the bed. The movement was so quick that before she could reach him he was struggling to his feet.

"The contract," he said. "I must take it to him right away." His voice and his inflection were perfectly natural.

"Yes," she said easily, "I'll attend to that. There's plenty of time. Now lie down again."

He looked at her in a puzzled, questioning way, but obeyed, and in a few moments his moaning told her that the dull fever dreams had again come upon him.

When the doctor came to make his last visit before the night, he looked grave.

"Has he had any lucid intervals?" he asked.

She told him what had happened earlier in the evening.

"It's hard to tell," he said, "whether that was dreams or not."

As he started to go, she asked,--

"Did they tell you downstairs that some one had been here to see him?"

He shook his head.

"He came while I was down in the office, and they said he had been here two or three times before. He wanted to see Mr. Bridge, he said, on a very important business matter."

The doctor smiled. "I'm afraid," he said, "that business will be indefinitely postponed. Who was the man?"

"He's one of our aldermen, Michael Blaney."

They were startled by a cry from the bed. Bridge was sitting bolt upright, and terror was in his face.

"Stop him, Weeks!" he gasped. "He's trying to choke me. Pull him off. You said he shouldn't touch me."

The voice died away in a moan, and he sank back in the pillows, breathing thickly. The nurse slipped quickly to his side, clasped his wrist in her cool hand, and laid the other on his forehead, and in a few moments his breath was coming more regularly and the mad light was gone out of his eyes.

The doctor looked on admiringly. "You'll pull him out of this if anybody can," he said. "It's strange he's got this Weeks business in his head. He hasn't known anything since Sunday night, and there wasn't much about it in the papers up to that time."

There was a silence while the doctor, after a long look at his patient, turned and walked to the door. When he reached it he said:--

"There's something beside scarlet fever that keeps up that delirium, I believe; something on his mind. I'd watch what he says pretty carefully, if I were you. He may give you a clew to what's bothering him. Then perhaps we can bring him around. Good night."

Grace Burns was not in the habit of reading the papers, for her activities, her sympathies, and her thoughts were pretty well absorbed without them, but on Thursday morning she read with eager interest the account of the fight for the M. & T. railroad. She also read an editorial on Jim Weeks, and then found out all she could from the newspapers of the two days previous. When she had finished, she abandoned a half-formed project of the night before to write to Weeks and explain the situation to him on the chance of his being of a.s.sistance. She saw on what a large scale this man did things and concluded that it was unlikely that he had any connection with Bridge's affairs, if, indeed, he had ever heard of him. He would be too busy to pay much attention to anything she might write.

All day long she listened to the sick man's continuous talk, hoping that some meaning would transpire through the incoherent sentences, something that would guide her to the source of his trouble; but her patience had little reward. He spoke vaguely of a contract once or twice, and as many times he mentioned the name of Jim Weeks, and at those times she thought of her plan again; mentally she would begin framing the note she would write to the great capitalist. But as often as she did this she realized that she had nothing to say to him, and with a sigh she put the thought away to wait at least until she could find out something more definite.

The next morning, Friday, she read in the papers of the dramatic happenings of the day before and of Jim Weeks's going to Chicago, presumably for a conference with the Governor. The bigness of it appalled her a little, and again the courage she had been storing up over night to write the note oozed away. For after all it was a question of courage, courage to do something which common sense called absurd on the bare chance that it might do good.

The day was a repet.i.tion of the day before, but late in the afternoon the persistent thought, "it might do some good," drove her to write to Jim Weeks. The note read:--

"Mr. Bridge [she did not know his initials] is dangerously sick here in the hospital. He has been delirious ever since he was brought here, and has frequently called for you, sometimes as if he wanted to tell you something, and at others as if he desired your protection. I write in the hope that you will be able either to come or to suggest some clew to his delusions which may enable us to remove them."

It was mailed that evening and reached Jim about noon Sat.u.r.day. Not half an hour afterward she received a telegram which took a load off her mind:--

Shall reach Tillman at eight this evening and will drive direct to the hospital. Please arrange it so I can see him immediately after I arrive there.

She was in the sick room watching, when Jim was shown in. He walked directly to the bed and stood looking down at Bridge for a moment, and then spoke to Grace Burns.

"Has he any chance? What is it?"

"It's scarlet fever. The doctor doesn't seem to think there's much hope."

"Poor devil," said Jim under his breath.