“I’d made pulp out’n you if I’d got you,” remarked Mr. Gaylord, with a reminiscent chuckle that was almost pleasant.  “But you were always a goldurned smart boy, Austen, and you’ve done well with them little suits.”  He gazed at Austen a moment with his small, filmy-blue eye.  “I don’t know but what you might take hold here and make it hot for those d-d rascals in the Northeastern, after all.  You couldn’t botch it worsen Hammer has, and you might do some good.  I said I’d make ’em dance, and by G-d, I’ll do it, if I have to pay that Teller Levering in New York, and it takes the rest of my life.  Look the situation over, and come back to-morrow and tell me what you think of it.”

“I can tell you what I think of it now, Mr. Gaylord,” said Austen.

“What’s that?” old Tom demanded sharply.

“That you’ll never get the bill passed, this session or next, by lobbying.”

For the moment the elder Mr. Gaylord was speechless, but young Tom Gaylord clapped his hand heartily on his friend’s shoulder.

“That’s the reason I wanted to get you down here, Austen,” he cried; that’s what I’ve been telling the old man all along—­perhaps he’ll believe you.”

“Then you won’t take hold?” said Mr. Gaylord, his voice trembling on the edge of another spasm.  “You refuse business?”

“I refuse that kind of business, Mr. Gaylord,” Austen answered quietly, though there was a certain note in his voice that young Tom knew well, and which actually averted the imminent explosion from Mr. Gaylord, whose eyes glared and watered.  “But aside from that, you must know that the Republican party leaders in this State are the heads of the lobby of the Northeastern Railroads.”

“I guess I know about Number Seven as well as you do,” old Tom interjected.

Austen’s eye flashed.

“Now hold on, father,” said young Tom, “that’s no way to talk to Austen.”

“Knowing Number Seven,” Austen continued, “you probably realize that the political and business future of nearly every one of the twenty State senators depends upon the favour of the Northeastern Railroads.”

“I know that the d-d fools won’t look at money,” said Mr. Gaylord; “Hammer’s tried ’em.”

“I told you that before you started in,” young Tom remarked, “but when you get mad, you won’t listen to sense.  And then there’s the Honourable Asa Gray, who wants to represent the Northeastern some day in the United States Senate.”

“The bill ought to pass,” shrieked old Tom; “it’s a d-d outrage.  There’s no reason why I shouldn’t be allowed to build a railroad if I’ve got the money to do it.  What in blazes are we comin’ to in this country if we can’t git competition?  If Flint stops that bill, I’ll buy a newspaper and go to the people with the issue and throw his d-d monopoly into bankruptcy.”

“It’s all very well to talk about competition and monopolies and lobbies,” said young Tom, “but how about the Gaylord Lumber Company?  How about the time you used the lobby, with Flint’s permission?  This kind of virtuous talk is beautiful to listen to when you and Flint get into a row.”