“Alexander Duncan!” exclaimed Wetherell.  “He’s the richest man in the state, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Merrill, “and he lives in a big square house right here in the capital.  He ain’t a bad fellow, Duncan.  You’d like him.  He loves books.  I wish you could see his library.”

“I’m afraid there’s not much chance of that,” answered Wetherell.

“Well, as I say, there’s Duncan, of the Central, and the other is Lovejoy, of the Northwestern.  Lovejoy’s a bachelor and a skinflint.  Those two, Duncan and Lovejoy, are using every means in their power to prevent Worthington from getting that franchise.  Have I made myself clear?”

“Do you think Mr. Worthington will get it?” asked Wetherell, who had in mind a certain nocturnal visit at his store.

Mr. Merrill almost leaped out of his chair at the question.  Then he mopped his face, and winked very deliberately at the storekeeper.  Then Mr. Merrill laughed.

“Well, well,” he said, “for a man who comes down here to stay with Jethro Bass to ask me that!” Whereupon Mr. Wetherell flushed, and began to perspire himself.  “Didn’t you hear Isaac D. Worthington’s virtuous appeal to the people at Brampton?” said Mr. Merrill.

“Yes,” replied Wetherell, getting redder.

“I like you, Will,” said Mr. Merrill, unexpectedly, “darned if I don’t.  I’ll tell you what I know about it, and you can have a little fun while you’re here, lookin’ on, only it won’t do to write about it to the Newcastle Guardian.  Guess Willard wouldn’t publish it, anyhow.  I suppose you know that Jethro pulls the strings, end we little railroad presidents dance.  We’re the puppets now, but after a while, when I’m crowded out, all these little railroads will get together and there’ll be a row worth looking at, or I’m mistaken.  But to go back to Worthington,” continued Mr. Merrill, “he made a little mistake with his bill in the beginning.  Instead of going to Jethro, he went to Heth Sutton, and Heth got the bill as far as the Committee on Corporations, and there she’s been ever since, with our friend Chauncey Weed, who’s whispering over there.”

“Mr. Sutton couldn’t even get it out of the Committee!” exclaimed Wetherell.

“Not an inch.  Jethro saw this thing coming about a year ago, and he took the precaution to have Chauncey Weed and the rest of the Committee in his pocket—­and of course Heth Sutton’s always been there.”

William Wetherell thought of that imposing and manly personage, the Honorable Heth Sutton, being in Jethro’s pocket, and marvelled.  Mr. Chauncey Weed seemed of a species better able to thrive in the atmosphere of pockets.

“Well, as I say, there was the Truro Franchise Bill sound asleep in the Committee, and when Isaac D. Worthington saw that his little arrangement with Heth Sutton wasn’t any good, and that the people of the state didn’t have anything more to say about it than the Crow Indians, and that the end of the session was getting nearer and nearer, he got desperate and went to Jethro, I suppose.  You know as well as I do that Jethro has agreed to put the bill through.”