O’Marity whistled softly.

The Honorable gentleman smiled, and looked out through the open window to where the members of the State legislature were going up the broad steps to the State House.

“Mr. Rong,” the Manager began, “it is all a horrible mistake.  You have never ‘seen’ Jones.  Not in the sense that we mean.  When you see a politician or a man who herds with politicians, he is supposed to be yours,—­you are supposed to have acquired a sort of interest in him,—­an interest that is valued so long as the individual is in sight.  You are entitled to his support and influence, up to, and including the date on which your influence expires.”  All the time the Manager kept jerking his thumb toward the window that held the Honorable gentleman, using the President’s friend as a living example of what he was trying to explain.

“Is Jones a member?”

“No, Mr. Rong, but he controls a few members.  It is easier, you understand, to acquire a drove of steers by buying a bunch than by picking them up here and there, one at a time.”

“I protest,” said the Honorable member, “against the reference to members of the legislature as ‘cattle.’”

Neither of the railway men appeared to hear the protest.

“I think I understand now,” said the President.  “And I wish, Robson, you would take this matter in hand.  I confess that I have no stomach for such work.”

“Very well,” said the Manager.  “Please instruct your—­your—­” and he jerked his thumb toward the Honorable gentleman—­“your friend to send Jones to my office.”

The Honorable gentleman went white and then flushed red, but he waited for no further orders.  As he strode towards the door, Robson, with a smooth, unruffled brow, but with a cold smile playing over his handsome face, with mock courtesy and a wide sweep of his open hand, waved the visitor through the open door.

* * * * *

“Mr. Jones wishes to see you,” said the chief clerk.

“Oh, certainly—­show Mr. Jones—­Ah, good-morning, Mr. Jones, glad to see you.  How’s Garden City?  Going to let us in on the ground floor, Mr. Rong tells me.  Here, now, fire up; take this big chair and tell me all about your new town.”

Jones took a cigar cautiously from the box.  When the Manager offered him a match he lighted up gingerly, as though he expected the thing to blow up.

“Now, Mr. Jones, as I understand it, you want a side track put in at once.  The matter of depot and other buildings will wait, but I want you to promise to let us have at least ten acres of ground.  Perhaps it would be better to transfer that to us at once.  I’ll see” (the Manager pressed a button).  “Send the chief engineer to me, George,” as the chief clerk looked in.

All this time Jones smoked little short puffs, eyeing the Manager and his own cigar.  When the chief engineer came in he was introduced to Mr. Jones, the man who was going to give Kansas the highest boom she had ever had.