“But see what it contemplates!” The Senator again took the prospectus in his hand and opened the pages.  “You propose to control the building and the manufacturing of the world,” he continued, reading aloud from the prospectus, “and all the allied trades, to construct and deal in all kinds of machinery, to carry on any other kinds of businesses, to acquire patents and concessions, to erect and maintain gas and electric works, to enter into any arrangement with any government, to promote companies, to lend money—­”

“It is summed up in that last clause,” Gorham interrupted, quietly; “’to do all such other things as are incidental or conducive to the attainment of the above objects.’  You see, I know the articles by heart.  May I ask you to glance over the names of the present stockholders?”

Gorham handed a leather-covered record-book to his companion and then walked to the window, where he quietly smoked his cigar, looking out on the broad avenue while the Senator scanned the names written in the small volume.  He appeared indifferent to the smothered exclamations which escaped involuntarily from Kenmore’s lips as the latter’s eye passed on from page to page, and for the time being he seemed more deeply interested in the people passing below on the street.  His calmness was in striking contrast to the Senator’s growing excitement.

“By George!” Kenmore exclaimed at length, rising and advancing toward the window.  “This list of names is even more extraordinary than your stupendous plans.”

“Does not each one explain the other?” asked Gorham.

“But how did you ever persuade such men as these to lend themselves to any enterprise—­no matter how attractive?  Why, there is hardly an omission—­the leaders of the world in finance, politics, diplomacy, literature, art, and science.”

“There are many omissions, as you would discover if you examined the list more carefully,” Gorham answered; “not the least of which is the name of the Hon. Mr. Kenmore!”

“I know, I know,” the Senator replied, impatiently; “but how did you get them?”

Gorham looked at his questioner attentively for a moment before he answered.  “The proposition itself appeals to that human instinct which is more or less developed in us all—­self-interest—­”

“But that, my dear sir, is nothing more or less than—­”

Gorham held up a protesting hand.  “Let me save you from using so ugly a word as you have in mind, Senator.  You are fully justified in having this thought suggest itself to you—­such is the business code of morals of to-day.  Yet I consider myself an idealist, and the whole plan on which the Consolidated Companies is based a moral one.  I must have succeeded in convincing these men, whose characters are admittedly above reproach, or they could not have been persuaded to become associated with our corporation.”

“Idealism, monopoly, and self-interest seem ill-mated partners, Mr. Gorham.”