However, he was going to visit a railroad president, and railroad presidents were said by Mandy to go in for style.  Scattergood mournfully arose to the necessities of the situation.

The twenty-four-mile ride was not long to Scattergood, for he occupied it by studying again every inch of his valley.  He never tired of studying it.  As the law book to the lawyer so the valley was to Scattergood—­something never to be laid aside, something to be kept fresh in mind and never neglected.  He never passed the length of it without seeing a new possibility.

Scattergood flagged the train.  The four-hour ride to the city he occupied in talking to the conductor or brake-man or any member of the train’s crew he could engage in conversation.  He was asking them about their jobs, what they did, and why.  He was asking question after question about railroads and railroading, in his quaint, characteristic manner.  It was his intention to own a railroad, and he was at work finding out how the thing was done.

Next morning at seven he was on hand at the terminal offices of the G. and B. An hour later minor employees began to arrive.

“Young feller,” he said, accosting a pleasant-faced boy, “where d’you calc’late I’ll find Mr. Castle?”

“President Castle?” asked the boy.

“That’s the feller,” said Scattergood.

“About now he’ll be eating grapefruit and poached egg,” said the boy.

“Don’t he work none durin’ the day?”

The boy laughed good-humoredly.  “He gets down about nine thirty, and when he don’t go off somewheres he’s mostly here till four—­except between one and two, when he’s at lunch.”

“Gosh!” said Scattergood.  “Must be wearin’ him to the bone.  ’Most five hours a day he sticks to it.  Bear up under it perty well, young feller, does he?  Keep his health and strength?”

“He works enough to get paid fifty thousand a year for it,” said the boy.

“That settles it,” said Scattergood.  “I’ve picked my job.  I’m a-goin’ to be a railroad president.”  He put his canvas telescope down, and placed a heavy foot on it for safety.  “Calc’late I kin sit here and wait, can’t I?”

The boy nodded and went on.  During the next hour more than one dozen young men and women passed that spot to eye with appreciation the caller who waited for Mr. Castle.  Scattergood was unaware of their scrutiny, for he was building a railroad down his valley—­a railroad of which he was the president.

Scattergood looked frequently at a big, open-faced, silver watch which was connected to his vest in pickpocket-proof fashion with a braided leather thong.  When it told him nine thirty had arrived, he got up, his telescope in his hand, and ambled heavily down the corridor.  He poked his head in at an open door, and called, amiably, “Kin anybody tell me where to find Mr. Castle?”

He was directed, and presently opened a door marked “President’s Office.”  The room within did not contain the president.  It was crossed by a railing, behind which sat an office boy.  Behind him was a stenographer.