On the other hand, the engineer knew Ford to be a clever miner,
peculiarly endowed with the instinct of his trade.
He had not seen him since the time when the Aberfoyle
colliery was abandoned, and did not know either what he was
doing or where he was living, with his wife and his son.
All that he now knew was, that a rendezvous had been appointed
him at the Yarrow shaft, and that Harry, Simon Ford's son,
was to wait for him during the whole of the next day at
the Callander station.
"I shall go, I shall go!" said Starr, his excitement increasing
as the time drew near.
Our worthy engineer belonged to that class of men whose brain is always
on the boil, like a kettle on a hot fire. In some of these brain
kettles the ideas bubble over, in others they just simmer quietly.
Now on this day, James Starr's ideas were boiling fast.
But suddenly an unexpected incident occurred. This was the drop of cold
water, which in a moment was to condense all the vapors of the brain.
About six in the evening, by the third post, Starr's servant brought
him a second letter. This letter was enclosed in a coarse envelope,
and evidently directed by a hand unaccustomed to the use of a pen.
James Starr tore it open. It contained only a scrap of paper,
yellowed by time, and apparently torn out of an old copy book.
On this paper was written a single sentence, thus worded:
"It is useless for the engineer James Starr to trouble himself,
Simon Ford's letter being now without object.
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