_Macklin's Library_ Robert Macklin, Pullman conductor, had risen to that eminent position so early in life that the glamour of it had not yet passed away.

He was large enough to have passed for a champion wrestler or a burly pugilist, and he was small enough to glory in the smallest details of his work.

Having at the age of thirty, through a great deal of luck and a touch of accident, secured his place, he possessed, at least, sufficient dignity to fill it.
He was one of those rare men who carry their dignity with them past the doors of their homes.

Robert Macklin's home, during the short intervals when he was off the trains, was in a tiny apartment.

It was really one not overly large room, with a little alcove adjoining; but Robert Macklin had seized the opportunity to hang a curtain across the alcove, and, since it was large enough to contain a chair and a bookshelf, he referred to it always as his "library." He was this morning seated in his library, with his feet protruding through the curtains and resting on the foot of his bed, when the doorbell rang.