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Updated: May 31, 2025
He owned controlling interests in several thousand miles of track, not permanent way, built on altogether different plans, where locomotives eternally whistled for grade-crossings, and parlor-cars of fabulous expense and unrestful design skated round curves that the Great Buchonian would have condemned as unsafe in a construction-line.
The Police damn 'em! would protect me if I got into trouble. But for a little thing like flagging a dirty little sawed-off train, running through my own grounds, too, I get the whole British Constitution down on me as if I sold bombs. I don't understand it." "No more does the Great Buchonian apparently." I was turning over the letters.
There was not the least necessity for any solicitor. Five minutes' quiet talk would have settled everything." I returned to the correspondence. The Great Buchonian regretted that, owing to pressure of business, none of their directors could accept Mr. W. Sargent's invitation to run down and discuss the difficulty.
The flagging of the train is civil, infernally civil, and means something quite different. They're after me for that now." "Who?" "The Great Buchonian. There was a man in court watching the case on behalf of the Company. I gave him my name in a quiet corner before I bought my hat, and come to dinner now; I'll show you the results afterwards."
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