“Are you stopping here?” asked the Honourable Hilary.

“No, I met Mr. Redbrook of Mercer, and he took me up to his lodgings.  If I can do anything for you, a message will reach me there.”

“Humph,” said the Honourable Hilary, while the others exchanged significant glances.

Austen had not gone half the length of the hall when he was overtaken by Mr. Tooting.

“Say, Aust, what’s up between you and Redbrook?” he asked.

“Nothing.  Why?” Austen asked, stopping abruptly.

“Well, I suppose you know there’s an anti-railroad feeling growing in that House, and that Redbrook has more influence with the farmers than any other man.”

“I didn’t know anything about Mr. Redbrook’s influence,” said Austen.

Mr. Tooting looked unconvinced.

“Say, Aust, if anything’s in the wind, I wish you’d let me know.  I’ll keep it quiet.”

“I think I shall be safe in promising that, Ham,” said Austen.  “When there’s anything in the wind, you generally find it out first.”

“There’s trouble coming for the railroad,” said Mr. Tooting.  “I can see that.  And I guess you saw it before I did.”

“They say a ship’s about to sink when the rats begin to leave it,” said Austen.

Although Austen spoke smilingly, Mr. Tooting looked pained.

“There’s no chance for young men in that system,” he said.

“Young men write the noble parts of the governor’s inaugurals,” said Austen.

“Yes,” said Mr. Tooting, bitterly, “but you never get to be governor and read ’em.  You’ve got to be a ‘come on’ with thirty thousand dollars to be a Northeastern governor and live next door to the Honourable Hilary in the Pelican.  Well, so long, Aust.  If anything’s up, give me the tip, that’s all I ask.”

Reflecting on the singular character of Mr. Tooting, Austen sought the Gaylords’ headquarters, and found them at the furthermost end of the building from the Railroad Room.  The door was opened by young Tom himself, whose face became wreathed in smiles when he saw who the visitor was.

“It’s Austen!” he cried.  “I thought you’d come down when you got that appeal of mine.”

Austen did not admit the self-sacrifice as he shook Tom’s hand; but remembered, singularly enough, the closing sentences of Tom’s letter —­which had nothing whatever to do with the Gaylord bill.

At this moment a commotion arose within the room, and a high, tremulous, but singularly fierce and compelling voice was heard crying out:—­“Get out!  Get out, d-n you, all of you, and don’t come back until you’ve got some notion of what you’re a-goin’ to do.  Get out, I say!”

These last words were pronounced with such extraordinary vigour that four gentlemen seemed to be physically impelled from the room.  Three of them Austen recognized as dismissed and disgruntled soldiers from the lobby army of the Northeastern; the fourth was the Honourable Galusha Hammer, whose mode of progress might be described as “stalking,” and whose lips were forming the word “intolerable.”  In the corner old Tom himself could be seen, a wizened figure of wrath.