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100 three hundred feet away on the single line of track, stood a fireless locomotive, with its long trail of iron-laden cars. The cab of their own locomotive was indeed empty, as Trevelyan had said. One millionaire, a valuable man with many interests all over the land, came forward to the smiling Trevelyan, but not to congratulate him.

"Young man," he said sternly, "I don't like a joke of this kind."

"It is no joke, sir," said Trevelyan, "but a serious effort to stimulate belief. You are like certain people in the Scriptures: a sign from Heaven wouldn't convince you. I think you all realise the value of this invention now."

At three o'clock that afternoon Edmund Trevelyan and Peter Mackeller walked into the unnecessarily sumptuous offices of Mr. Mitcham's ill-fated company. There were less than a score of persons present, for this sale, so far as the general public was concerned, represented the auctioning of valueless effects owned by a firm that had failed to make good. The newspaper accounts of the trial of the invention that morning were already on the streets, but no reader connected them with this obscure sale. The splendidly-upholstered chairs had been placed in two or three rows, with some ordinary wooden benches behind them in case there should be a large attendance. The auctioneer sat at a desk looking over some papers. Flannigan was not present. He failed to