“The gentleman from Wantage,” said the Speaker, smiling broadly now, “withdraws his resolution.”

As William Wetherell was returning to the Pelican House, pondering over this incident, he almost ran into a distinguished-looking man walking briskly across Main Street.

“It was Mr. Worthington!” said Cynthia, looking after him.

But Mr. Worthington had a worried look on his face, and was probably too much engrossed in his own thoughts to notice his acquaintances.  He had, in fact, just come from the Throne Room, where he had been to remind Jethro that the session was almost over, and to ask him what he meant to do about the Truro Bill.  Jethro had given him no satisfaction.

“Duncan and Lovejoy have their people paid to sit there night and day,” Mr. Worthington had said.  “We’ve got a bare majority on a full House; but you don’t seem to dare to risk it.  What are you going to do about it, Mr. Bass?”

“W-want the bill to pass—­don’t you?”

“Certainly,” Mr. Worthington had cried, on the edge of losing his temper.

“L-left it to me—­didn’t you?

“Yes, but I’m entitled to know what’s being done.  I’m paying for it.”

“H-hain’t paid for it yet—­hev you?”

“No, I most assuredly haven’t.”

“B-better wait till you do.”

There was very little satisfaction in this, and Mr. Worthington had at length been compelled to depart, fuming, to the house of his friend the enemy, Mr. Duncan, there to attempt for the twentieth time to persuade Mr. Duncan to call off his dogs who were sitting with such praiseworthy pertinacity in their seats.  As the two friends walked on the lawn, Mr. Worthington tried to explain, likewise for the twentieth time, that the extension of the Truro Railroad could in no way lessen the Canadian traffic of the Central, Mr. Duncan’s road.  But Mr. Duncan could not see it that way, and stuck to his present ally, Mr. Lovejoy, and refused point-blank to call off his dogs.  Business was business.

It is an apparently inexplicable fact, however, that Mr. Worthington and his son Bob were guests at the Duncan mansion at the capital.  Two countries may not be allies, but their sovereigns may be friends.  In the present instance, Mr. Duncan and Mr. Worthington’s railroads were opposed, diplomatically, but another year might see the Truro Railroad and the Central acting as one.  And Mr. Worthington had no intention whatever of sacrificing Mr. Duncan’s friendship.  The first citizen of Brampton possessed one quality so essential to greatness—­that of looking into the future, and he believed that the time would come when an event of some importance might create a perpetual alliance between himself and Mr. Duncan.  In short, Mr. Duncan had a daughter, Janet, and Mr. Worthington, as we know, had a son.  And Mr. Duncan, in addition to his own fortune, had married one of the richest heiresses in New England.  Prudens futuri, that was Mr. Worthington’s motto.