The door closed behind her quick, impatient step. Roderick sat down at his desk and opened his portfolio. He did not begin to write at once. Instead, he sat staring at the letter in his hand. He was a slow, plodding boy; he was not given to dreaming; but to-night, as he sat there, his sober young face lighted with eager fire. Certain phrases of that magical letter seemed to float and gleam before his eyes.
--"'A splendid undertaking ... heavy, responsible work, but a man's work, and a man's game.... This is your fighting chance. If you can make good.... And I expect to see you equal to its heaviest demands.'"
"I'll make good, all right," he muttered. His strong hand clinched on the folded sheet. "It's my fighting chance. And if I can't win out, with such an opportunity as this one--then I'll take my name off the _Engineering Record_ roster and buy me a pick and a shovel!"
"Ready, Marian? The Limited starts in thirty minutes. We haven't a minute to spare."
"Y-yes." Marian caught up her handbag and hurried into the cab. "Only my trunk keys--I'm not sure----"
"Your trunk keys! You haven't lost them, of all things!"
"No. Here they are, safe in my bag. But Empress has been so frenzied I haven't known which way to turn."
Poor insulted Empress, squirming madly in a wicker basket, glared at Rod, and lifted a wild, despairing yowl.
"You don't propose to leave Mount Vernon Street for the wilds of Illinois without a struggle, do you, Empress?" chuckled Rod. "Never you mind. You'll forget your blue silk cushion and your minced steak and cream, and you'll be chasing plebeian chipmunks in a week. Look at the river, Marian. You won't see it again in a long while."
Marian followed his glance. It was a silver hoar-frost morning. The sky shone a cloudless blue, the cold, delicious air sparkled, diamond-clear. Straight down Mount Vernon Street the exquisite little panel of the frozen Charles gleamed like a vista of fairyland. Marian stared at it a little wistfully.
"It will all be very different out West, I suppose. I wonder if any Western river can be half as lovely," she pondered.
Roderick did not answer. A sudden worried question stirred in his thought. Yes, the West would be "different." Very different.