Down the road came tramping a workingman in overalls and jumper, with a canvas bag of tools swinging from his brawny right hand.

As he walked, striding along with splendid energy, he whistled to himself--no cheap ragtime air, but Handel's Largo, with an appreciation which bespoke musical feeling of no common sort.
The Billionaire caught sight of him, just as the car slowed to take the sharp turn by the station.

Instant recognition followed.

Flint's eyes narrowed sharply.
"Hm! The same fellow," he grunted to himself.

"The same rascal who stood beside us on the ferry boat, as we were talking over our plans.