"Ranching? Oh yes! There is, up near the Rockies, but that is out of civilization; out of reach of everything and everybody."
"That is what I want, Sir!" exclaimed Cameron, his face once more aglow with eager hope. "I want to get away into the open."
Mr. Denman did not, or could not, recognise this as the instinctive cry of the primitive man for a closer fellowship with Mother Nature. He was keenly practical, and impatient with everything that appeared to him to be purely visionary and unbusiness-like.
"But, my dear fellow," he said, "a ranch means cattle and horses; and cattle and horses means money, unless of course, you mean to be simply a cowboy--cowpuncher, I believe, is the correct term--but there is nothing in that; no future, I mean. It is all very well for a little fun, if you have a bank account to stand it, although some fellows stand it on someone's else bank account--not much to their credit, however. There is a young friend of mine out there at present, but from what I can gather his home correspondence is mainly confined to appeals for remittances from his governor, and his chief occupation spending these remittances as speedily as possible. All very well, as I have said, for fun, if you can pay the shot. But to play the role of gentleman cowboy, while somebody else pays for it, is the sort of thing I despise."
"And so do I, Sir!" said Cameron. "There will be no remittance in my case."
Denman glanced at the firm, closed lips and the stiffening figure.
"That is the talk!" he exclaimed. "No, there is no chance in ranching unless you have capital."
"As far as I can see," replied Cameron gloomily, "everything seems closed up except to the capitalist, and yet from what I heard at home situations were open on every hand in this country."
"Come here!" cried Denman, drawing Cameron to the office window.
"See those doors!" pointing to a long line of shops. "Every last one is opened to a man who knows his business. See those smokestacks! Every last wheel in those factories is howling for a man who is on to his job. But don't look blue, there is a place for you, too; the thing is to find it."
"What are those long buildings?" inquired Cameron, pointing towards the water front.
"Those are railroad sheds; or, rather, Transportation Company's sheds; they are practically the same thing. I say! What is the matter with trying the Transportation Company? I know the manager well. The very thing! Try the Transportation Company!"
"How should I go about it?" said Cameron. "I mean to say just what position should I apply for?"
"Position!" shouted Denman. "Why, general manager would be good!"
Then, noting the flush in Cameron's face, he added quickly, "Pardon me! The thing is to get your foot in somehow, and then wire in till you are general manager, by Jove! It can be done! Fleming has done it! Went in as messenger boy, but--" Denman paused.
There flashed through his mind the story of Fleming's career; a vision of the half-starved ragged waif who started as messenger boy in the company's offices, and who, by dint of invincible determination and resolute self-denial, fought his way step by step to his present position of control. In contrast, he looked at the young man, born and bred in circles where work is regarded as a calamity, and service wears the badge of social disfranchisement.
Fleming had done it under compulsion of the inexorable mistress "Necessity." But what of this young man?
"Will we try?" he said at length. "I shall give you a letter to Mr. Fleming."
He sat down to his desk and wrote vigourously.
"Take this, and see what happens."
Cameron took the letter, and, glancing at the address, read, Wm.
Fleming, Esquire, General Manager, Metropolitan Transportation & Cartage Company.
"Is this a railroad?" asked Cameron.
"No, but next thing to it. The companies are practically one. The transition from one to the other is easy enough. Let me know how you get on. Good-by! And--I say!" cried Mr. Denman, calling Cameron back again from the door, "see Mr. Fleming himself.
Remember that! And remember," he added, with a smile, "the position of manager is not vacant just yet, but it will be. I give you my word for it when you are ready to take it. Good-by! Buck up! Take what he offers you! Get your teeth in, and never let go!"
"By George!" said Denman to himself as the door closed on Cameron, "these chaps are the limit. He's got lots of stuff in him, but he has been rendered helpless by their fool system--God save us from it! That chap has had things done for him ever since he was first bathed; they have washed 'em, dressed 'em, fed 'em, schooled 'em, found 'em positions, stuck 'em in, and watched that they didn't fall out. And yet, by George!" he added, after a pause, "they are running the world to-day--that is, some of them." Facing which somewhat puzzling phenomenon, Denman plunged into his work again.
