he impressions of Mr. Gorse
which I carried away from that first meeting. The very solidity of his
flesh seemed to suggest the solidity of his position. Such, say the
psychologists, is the effect of prestige.

I remember well an old-fashioned picture puzzle in one of my boyhood
books. The scene depicted was to all appearances a sylvan, peaceful one,
with two happy lovers seated on a log beside a brook; but presently, as
one gazed at the picture, the head of an animal stood forth among the
branches, and then the body; more animals began to appear, bit by bit; a
tiger, a bear, a lion, a jackal, a fox, until at last, whenever I
looked at the page, I did not see the sylvan scene at all, but only the
predatory beasts of the forest. So, one by one, the figures of the real
rulers of the city superimposed themselves for me upon the simple and
democratic design of Mayor, Council, Board of Aldermen, Police Force,
etc., that filled the eye of a naive and trusting electorate which
fondly imagined that it had something to say in government. Miller Gorse
was one of these rulers behind the screen, and Adolf Scherer, of the
Boyne Iron Works, another; there was Leonard Dickinson of the Corn
National Bank; Frederick Grierson, becoming wealthy in city real estate;
Judah B. Tallant, who, though outlawed socially, was deferred to as the
owner of the Morning Era; and even Ralph Hambleton, rapidly superseding
the elderly and conservative Mr. Lord, who had hitherto managed the
great Hambleton estate. Ralph seemed to have become, in a somewhat
gnostic manner, a full-fledged financier. Not having studied law, he had
been home for four years when I became a legal fledgling, and during
the early days of my apprenticeship I was beholden to him for many
"eye openers" concerning the conduct of great affairs. I remember him
sauntering into my room one morning when Larry Weed had gone out on an
errand.

"Hello, Hughie," he said, with his air of having nothing to do.
"Grinding it out? Where's Watling?"

"Isn't he in his office?"

"No."

"Well, what can we do for you?" I asked.

Ralph grinned.

"Perhaps I'll tell you when you're a little older. You're too young."
And he sank down into Larry Weed's chair, his long legs protruding on
the other side of the table. "It's a matter of taxes. Some time ago I
found out that Dickinson and Tallant and others I could mention were
paying a good deal less on their city property than we are. We don't
propose