There must
be no weak places in his word of honor.
Doggedly he went to the extreme limit of the indicated route, even taking
the longest way round to make the turn. As he started back, beneath the arc
light at the corner there suddenly appeared a city messenger boy. He
approached Cyrus, and, grinning, held out an envelope.
"Ordered to give you this," he said, "if you made connections. If you'd
been later than five minutes past seven, I was to keep dark. You've got
seven minutes and a half to spare. Queer orders, but the big railroad boss,
Woodbridge, gave 'em to me."
Cyrus made his way back to the car with some self-congratulations that
served to brace up the muscles behind his knees. This last incident showed
him plainly that his father was putting him to a severe test of some sort,
and he could have no doubt that it was for a purpose. His father was the
sort of man who does things with a very definite purpose indeed. Cyrus
looked back over the day with an anxious searching of his memory to be sure
that no detail of the singular service required of him had been slighted.
As he once more ascended the steps of his own home, he was so confident
that his labors were now ended that he almost forgot about envelope No.
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