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She was there, all right, there at the gate. The Conductor was seemingly as gratified as I. He turned his charges over to the old woman, who was weeping for joy, and hugging the children between bursts of lavish, loving Deutsch.

I climbed into a Parmelee bus and said, “Auditorium Annex, please.”

And as I sat there in the bus, while they were packing the grips on top, the Conductor passed by, carrying a tin box in one hand and his train cap in the other.

I saw an Elk’s tooth on his watch-chain.

I called to him, “I saw you help the babies–good boy!”

He looked at me in doubt.

“Those German children,” I said; “I’m glad you were so kind to them!”

“Oh,” he answered, smiling; “yes, I had forgotten; why, of course, that is a railroad man’s business, you know–to help everybody who needs help.”

He waved his hand and disappeared up the stairway that led to the offices.

And it came to me that he had forgotten the incident so soon, simply because to help had become the habit of his life. He may read this, and he may not. There he was–big, bold, bluff and bronzed, his hair just touched with the frost of years, and beneath his brass buttons a heart beating with a desire to bless and benefit. I do not know his name, but the sight of the man, carrying a child on each arm, their arms encircling his neck in perfect faith, their long journey done, and he turning them over in safety to their Grandmother, was something to renew one’s faith in humanity.

Even a great Railway System has a soul.

If you answer that corporations have no souls, I’ll say: “Friend, you were never more mistaken in your life. The business that has no soul soon ceases to exist; and the success of a company or corporation turns on the kind of soul it possesses. Soul is necessary to service. Courtesy, kindness, honesty and efficiency are tangible soul-assets; and all good railroad men know it.”