Mr. Flint is the generalissimo of the allied railroads, and sits in his headquarters early and late, going over the details of the campaign with his lieutenants; scanning the clauses of the bill with Judge Parkinson for the last time, and giving orders to the captains of mercenaries as to the disposition of their forces; writing out passes for the deserving and the true.  For these latter, also, and for the wavering there is a claw-hammer on the marble-topped mantel wielded by Mr. Bijah Bixby, pro tem chief of staff—­or of the hammer, for he is self-appointed and very useful.  He opens the mysterious packing cases which come up to the Railroad Room thrice a week, and there is water to be had in the bath-room—­and glasses.  Mr. Bixby also finds time to do some of the scouting about the rotunda and lobbies, for which he is justly celebrated, and to drill his regiment every day.  The Honorable Heth Sutton, M.C.,—­who held the bridge in the Woodchuck Session,—­is there also, sitting in a corner, swelled with importance, smoking big Florizel cigars which come from—­somewhere.  There are, indeed, many great and battle-scarred veterans who congregate in that room—­too numerous and great to mention; and saunterers in the Capitol Park opposite know when a council of war is being held by the volumes of smoke which pour out of the window, just as the Romans are made cognizant by the smoking of a chimney of when another notable event takes place.

Who, then, are left to frequent the Throne Room?  Is that ancient seat of power deserted, and does Jethro Bass sit there alone behind the curtains, in his bitterness, thinking of other bright June days that are gone?

Of all those who had been amazed when Jethro Bass suddenly emerged from his retirement and appeared in the capital some months before, none were more thunderstruck than certain gentlemen who had been to Coniston repeatedly, but in vain, to urge him to make this very fight.  The most important of these had been Mr. Balch, president of the “Down East” Road, and the representatives of two railroads of another state.  They had at last offered Jethro fabulous sums to take charge of their armies in the field—­sums, at least, that would seem fabulous to many people, and had seemed so to them.  When they heard that the lion had roused and shaken himself and had unaccountably come forth of his own accord, they hastened to the state capital to renew their offers.  Another shock, but of a different kind, was in store for them.  Mr. Balch had not actually driven the pack-mules, laden with treasure, to the door of the Pelican House, where Jethro might see them from his window; but he requested a private audience, and it was probably accidental that the end of his personal check-book protruded a little from his pocket.  He was a big, coarse-grained man, Mr. Balch, who had once been a brakeman, and had risen by what is known as horse sense to the presidency of his road.  There was a wonderful sunset beyond the Capitol, but Mr. Balch did not talk about the sunset, although Jethro was watching it from behind the curtains.