“I begin to fear, Mr. Vane,” said the president of the Northeastern, “that you have missed your vocation.  Suppose I were to grant you, for the sake of argument, that the Northeastern Railroads, being the largest taxpayers in this State, have taken an interest in seeing that conservative men fill responsible offices.  Suppose such to be the case, and we abruptly cease—­to take such an interest.  What then?  Are we not at the mercy of any and all unscrupulous men who build up a power of their own, and start again the blackmail of the old days?”

“You have put the case mildly,” said Austen, and ingeniously.  “As a matter of fact, Mr. Flint, you know as well as I do that for years you have governed this State absolutely, for the purpose of keeping down your taxes, avoiding unnecessary improvements for safety and comfort, and paying high dividends—­”

“Perhaps you realize that in depicting these criminal operations so graphically,” cried Mr. Flint, interrupting, “you are involving the reputation of one of the best citizens the State ever had—­your own father.”

Austen Vane leaned forward across the desk, and even Mr. Flint (if the truth were known) recoiled a little before the anger he had aroused.  It shot forth from Austen’s eyes, proclaimed itself in the squareness of the face, and vibrated in every word he spoke.

“Mr. Flint,” he said, “I refrain from comment upon your methods of argument.  There were many years in which my father believed the practices which he followed in behalf of your railroad to be necessary—­and hence justified.  And I have given you the credit of holding the same belief.  Public opinion would not, perhaps, at that time have protected your property from political blackmail.  I merely wished you to know, Mr. Flint, that there is no use in attempting to deceive me in regard to the true colour of those practices.  It is perhaps useless for me to add that in my opinion you understand as well as I do the real reason for Mr. Vane’s resignation and illness.  Once he became convinced that the practices were wrong, he could no longer continue them without violating his conscience.  He kept his word to you—­at the risk of his life, and, as his son, I take a greater pride in him to-day than I ever have before.”

Austen got to his feet.  He was formidable even to Mr. Flint, who had met many formidable, and angry men in his time—­although not of this type.  Perhaps—­who can say?—­he was the in the mind of the president unconscious embodiment of the Northeastern of the new forces which had arisen against him,—­forces which he knew in his secret soul he could not combat, because they were the irresistible forces of things not material.  All his life he had met and successfully conquered forces of another kind, and put down with a strong hand merely physical encroachments.