sat
in the little room we shared in common, his arms akimbo over a law book,
his little legs doubled under him, his round, eyes fixed expectantly
on the doorway. And even if I had not been aware of my good fortune
in being connected with such a firm as Theodore Watling's, Larry would
shortly have brought it home to me. During those weeks when I was making
my first desperate attempts at briefing up the law I was sometimes
interrupted by his exclamations when certain figures went by in the
corridor.

"Say, Hugh, do you know who that was?"

"No."

"Miller Gorse."

"Who's he?"

"Do you mean to say you never heard of Miller Gorse?"

"I've been away a long time," I would answer apologetically. A person of
some importance among my contemporaries at Harvard, I had looked forward
to a residence in my native city with the complacency of one who has
seen something of the world,--only to find that I was the least in the
new kingdom. And it was a kingdom. Larry opened up to me something of
the significance and extent of it, something of the identity of the men
who controlled it.

"Miller Gorse," he said impressively, "is the counsel for the railroad."

"What railroad? You mean the--" I was adding, when he interrupted me
pityingly.

"After you've been here a while you'll find out there's only one
railroad in this state, so far as politics are concerned. The Ashuela
and Northern, the Lake Shore and the others don't count."

I refrained from asking any more questions at that time, but afterwards
I always thought of the Railroad as spelled with a capital.

"Miller Gorse isn't forty yet," Larry told me on another occasion.
"That's doing pretty well for a man who comes near running this state."

For the sake of acquiring knowledge, I endured Mr. Weed's patronage. I
inquired how Mr. Gorse ran the state.

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough," he assured me.

"But Mr. Barbour's president of the Railroad."

"Sure. Once in a while they take something up to him, but as a rule he
leaves things to Gorse."

Whereupon I resolved to have a good look at Mr. Gorse at the first
opportunity. One day Mr. Watling sent out for some papers.

"He's in there now;" said Larry. "You take 'em."

"In there" meant Mr. Watling's sanctum. And in there he was. I had only
a glance at the great man, for, with a kindly but preoccupied "Thank
you, Hugh," Mr. Watling took the papers and dismissed me. Heaviness,
blackness and impassivity,--these were t