The Summit of Success

It was at the close of a winter's day in Chicago. Snow clouds were
scurrying in from over the dun-colored waters of the lake, bringing
with them an early twilight. Already myriads of lights were twinkling
in the high office buildings, and showing brilliant above the smooth
asphalt of Michigan Avenue. The endless stream of vehicles homeward
bound began to thicken, the broad highway became a scene of continuous
motion and display. After hastily consulting the ponderous pages of a
city directory in an adjacent drug store, a young man, attired in dark
business suit, his broad shoulders those of an athlete, his face
strongly marked and full of character, and bronzed even at this season
by out-of-door living, hurried across the street and entered the busy
doorway of the Railway Exchange Building. On the seventh floor he
unceremoniously flung open a door bearing the number sought, and
stepped within to confront the office boy, who as instantly frowned his
disapproval.

"Office hours over," the latter announced shortly. "Just shuttin' up."

"I am not here on business, my lad," was the good-natured reply, "but
in the hope of catching Mr. Craig before he got away."

The boy, still somewhat doubtful, jerked his hand back across his
shoulder toward an inner apartment.

"Well, his nibs is in there, but he 's just a-goin'."

The visitor swung aside the gate and entered. The man within, engaged
in closing down his roll-top desk for the day, wheeled about in his
chair, quite evidently annoyed by so late a caller. An instant he
looked at the face, partially shadowed in the dim light, then sprang to
his feet, both hands cordially extended.