Across the small round table sat the railway magnate's dinner-guest, a
man who was more than McVickar's match in big-boned, square-shouldered
physique, and whose half-century was written only in the thick, grizzled
hair and heavy, graying mustaches. Like McVickar, he had the lion-like
face of mastership, but the fine wrinkles at the corners of the wide-set
eyes postulated a sense of humor which was lacking in his table
companion. His mouth, half hidden by the drooping mustaches, needed the
relieving wrinkles at the corners of the eyes; it was a grim,
straight-lined inheritance from his pioneer ancestors--the mouth of a
man who may yield to persuasion but not easily to opposition.
"I wish I could convince you that it isn't worth while to hold me at
arm's-length, Senator," McVickar was saying, as he clipped the end from
his cigar. "You know as well as I do that under the present law in this
State we are practically bankrupt. We are not making enough to pay the
fixed charges. We do a losing business from the moment we cross your
State line."
"Yes; it seems to me I have heard something that sounded a good deal
like that before," was the noncommittal rejoinder.
"You have heard the simple truth, then. And it is a bald injustice, not
only to the railroad company, but to the people it serves. We can't give
adequate service when the cost exceeds the earnings.
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