Business & Finance: Interrupted

Once every year, ticket agents and freight handlers at the sun-scorched railway stations dotted along the lines of the Northern Pacific shook hands with a rotund little man who climbed briskly down the steps of a private car. Many he knew by name, knew their histories and their troubles. He told them a good railroading yarn, climbed back into his car.

Approachable, candid, he was a hero to many a cub reporter. He said: "I am a quasi-public servant. I have no more right to refuse an interview to a newspaperman than to a director of the New York, New Haven...

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