Uncorking it, he pressed it to his
father's lips, and with his own pocket-handkerchief (old Tom not
possessing such an article) wiped the perspiration from Mr. Gaylord's
brow and the drops from his shabby black coat. "There's no use gettin'
mad at Austen. He's dead right--you can't lobby this thing through, and
you knew it before you started. If you hadn't lost your temper, you
wouldn't have tried."

"We'll see, by G-d, we'll see," said the indomitable old Tom, when he got
his breath. "You young men think you know a sight, but you haven't got
the stuff in you we old Tellers have. Where would I be if it wasn't for
fightin'? You mark my words, before this session's ended I'll scare h-l
out of Flint--see if I don't."

Young Tom winked at his friend.

"Let's go down to supper," he said.

The dining room of the Pelican Hotel during a midweek of a busy session
was a scene of bustle and confusion not likely to be forgotten. Every
seat was taken, and gentlemen waited their turn in the marble-flagged
rotunda who had not the honour of being known to Mr. Giles, the head
waiter. If Mr. Hamilton Tooting were present, and recognized you, he
would take great pleasure in pointing out the celebrities, and especially
that table over which the Honourable Hilary Vane presided, with the
pretty, red-checked waitress hovering around it. At the Honourable
Hilary's right hand was the division superintendent, and at his left, Mr.
Speaker Doby--a most convenient and congenial arrangement; farther down
the board were State Senator Nat Billings, Mr. Ridout (when he did not
sup at home), the Honourables Brush Bascom and Elisha Jane, and the
Honourable Jacob Botcher made a proper ballast for the foot. This table
was known as the Railroad Table, and it was very difficult, at any
distance away from it, to hear what was said, except when the Honourable
Jacob Botcher made a joke. Next in importance and situation was the
Governor's Table--now occupied by the Honourable Asa Gray. Mr. Tooting's
description would not have stopped here.

Sensations are common in the Pelican Hotel, but when Austen Vane walked
in that evening between the Gaylords, father and son, many a hungry guest
laid down his knife and fork and stared. Was the younger Vane (known to
be anti-railroad) to take up the Gaylords' war against his own father?
All the indications were that way, and a rumour flew from table to
table-leaping space, as rumours will--that the Gaylords had sent to