He handed his cigar-case to Mayor Poundstone and continued lightly:  “And I am glad to have your assurance that the city council will not drop a cold chisel in the cogs of the wheels of progress.”

Mr. Poundstone had given no such assurance, but for some reason he did not feel equal to the task of contradicting this pleasant fellow.  Ogilvy continued:  “At the proper time we shall apply for the franchise.  It will then be time enough to discuss it.  In the meantime the N. C. O. plans a public dedicatory ceremony at the first breaking of ground, and I would be greatly honoured, Mr. Mayor, if you would consent to turn the first shovelful of earth and deliver the address of welcome upon that occasion.”

The Mayor swelled like a Thanksgiving turkey.  “The honour will be mine,” he corrected his visitor.

“Thank you so much, sir.  Well, that’s another worry off my mind.”  With the tact of a prime minister Buck then proceeded deliberately to shift the conversation to the weather and asked a number of questions anent the annual rainfall.  Then he turned to crops, finance, and national politics and gradually veered around to an artistic word-picture of the vast expansion of the redwood-lumber industry when the redwood-belt should be connected by rail with the markets of the entire country.  He spoke of the magic effect the building of such a line would have upon the growth of Sequoia.  Sequoia, he felt convinced, was destined to become a city of at least a hundred thousand inhabitants; he rhapsodized over the progressive spirit of the community and with a wave of his hand studded the waters of Humboldt Bay with the masts of the world’s shipping.  Suddenly he checked himself, glanced at his watch, apologized for consuming so much of His Honour’s valuable time, expressed himself felicitated at knowing the Mayor, gracefully expressed his appreciation for the encouragement given his enterprise, and departed.  When he had gone, Mayor Poundstone declared to his secretary that without doubt Ogilvy was the livest, keenest fellow that had struck Sequoia since the advent of old John Cardigan.

Half an hour later the Mayor’s telephone-bell rang.  Buck Ogilvy was on the line.  “I beg your pardon for bothering you with my affairs twice in the same day, Mr. Mayor,” he announced deprecatingly, “but the fact is, a condition has just arisen which necessitates the immediate employment of an attorney.  The job is not a very important one and almost any lawyer would do, but in view of the fact that we must, sooner or later, employ an attorney to look after our interests locally, it occurred to me that I might as well make the selection of a permanent attorney now.  I am a stranger in this city Mr. Poundstone.  Would it be imposing on your consideration if I asked you to recommend such a person?”

“Why, not at all, not at all!  Delighted to help you, Mr. Ogilvy.  Let me see, now.  There are several attorneys in Sequoia, all men of excellent ability and unimpeachable integrity, whom I can recommend with the utmost pleasure.  Cadman look up the relatives of a public official!  Well!  Forward, men, follow me—­to Henry’s office.”