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."

At this remark of his son's, the intermittent geyser of old Tom's wrath
spouted up again with scalding steam, and in a manner utterly impossible
to reproduce upon paper. Young Tom waited patiently for the exhibition to
cease, which it did at length in a coughing fit of sheer exhaustion that
left his father speechless, if not expressionless, pointing a lean and
trembling finger in the direction of a valise on the floor.

"You'll go off in a spell of that kind some day," said young Tom, opening
the valise and extracting a bottle.