“I think I have,” said Whitney, with easy candor.  “That’s why I feel confident your suggestion has no foundation—­beyond your suspicion of all men engaged in large enterprises.  It’s a wonder you don’t suspect me.  Indeed, you probably will.”

He spoke laughingly.  Scarborough’s answer was a grave smile.

“My personal loss may save me from you,” Whitney went on.  “I hesitate to speak of it, but, as you can see, it is large—­almost as large as the university’s.”

“Yes,” said Scarborough absently, though his gaze was still fixed on Whitney.  “You think you can do nothing?”

“Indeed I do not!” exclaimed Whitney.  “I shall begin with the assumption that you are right.  And if you are, I’ll have those scoundrels in court within a month.”

“And then?”

The young senator’s expression and tone were calm, but Whitney seemed to find covert hostility in them.  “Then—­justice!” he replied angrily.

Dr. Hargrave beamed benevolent confidence.  “Justice!” he echoed.  “Thank God for our courts!”

“But when?” said Scarborough.  As there was no answer, he went on:  “In five—­ten—­fifteen—­perhaps twenty years.  The lawyers are in no hurry—­a brief case means a small fee.  The judges—­they’ve got their places for life, so there’s no reason why they should muss their silk gowns in undignified haste.  Besides—­It seems to me I’ve heard somewhere the phrase ‘railway judges.’”

Dr. Hargrave looked gentle but strong disapproval.  “You are too pessimistic, Hampden,” said he.

“The senator should not let the wounds from his political fights gangrene,” suggested Whitney, with good-humored raillery.

“Have you nothing but the court remedy to offer?” asked Scarborough, a slight smile on his handsome face, so deceptively youthful.

“That’s quite enough,” answered Whitney.  “In my own affairs I’ve never appealed to the courts in vain.”

“I can believe it,” said Scarborough, and Whitney looked as if he had scented sarcasm, though Scarborough was correctly colorless.  “But, if you should be unable to discover any grounds for a case against the railways?”

“Then all we can do is to work harder than ever along the old lines—­cut down expenses, readjust wages, stop waste.”  Whitney sneered politely.  “But no doubt you have some other plan to propose.”

Scarborough continued to look at him with the same faint smile.  “I’ve nothing to suggest—­to-day,” said he.  “The court proceedings will do no harm—­you see, Mr. Whitney, I can’t get my wicked suspicion of your friends out of my mind.  But we must also try something less—­less leisurely than courts.  I’ll think it over.”

Whitney laughed rather uncomfortably; and when they adjourned he lingered with Dr. Hargrave.  “We must not let ourselves be carried away by our young friend’s suspicions,” said he to his old friend.  “Scarborough is a fine fellow.  But he lacks your experience and my knowledge of practical business.  And he has been made something of a crank by combating the opposition his extreme views have aroused among conservative people.”