uld help him to the extent of his power, but the
Northeastern Railroads could not interfere in legislative or political
matters. Mr. Crewe was naturally pained by the lack of confidence of his
friend; it seems useless to reiterate that he was far from being a fool,
and no man could be in the capital a day during the session without being
told of the existence of Number Seven, no matter how little the informant
might know of what might be going on there. Mr. Crewe had been fortunate
enough to see the inside of that mysterious room, and, being a
sufficiently clever man to realize the importance and necessity of
government by corporations, had been shocked at nothing he had seen or
heard. However, had he had a glimpse of the Speaker's lists under the
hopelessly crushed hat of Mr. Bascom, perhaps he might have been shocked,
after all.

It was about this time that a touching friendship began which ought, in
justice, to be briefly chronicled. It was impossible for the Honourable
Brush Bascom and the Honourable Jacob Botcher to have Mr. Crewe sitting
between them and not conceive a strong affection for him. The Honourable
Brush, though not given to expressing his feelings, betrayed some
surprise at the volumes Mr. Crewe had contributed to the stream of bills;
and Mr. Botcher, in a Delphic whisper, invited Mr. Crewe to visit him in
room forty-eight of the Pelican that evening. To tell the truth, Mr.
Crewe returned the feeling of his companions warmly, and he had even
entertained the idea of asking them both to dine with him that evening.

Number forty-eight (the Honourable Jake's) was a free-and-easy democratic
resort. No three knocks and a password before you turn the key here.
Almost before your knuckles hit the panel you heard Mr. Botcher's hearty
voice shouting "Come in," in spite of the closed transom. The Honourable
Jake, being a tee-totaller, had no bathroom, and none but his intimate
friends ever looked in the third from the top bureau drawer.

The proprietor of the Pelican, who in common with the rest of humanity
had fallen a victim to the rough and honest charms and hearty good
fellowship of the Honourable Jake, always placed a large padded arm-chair
in number forty-eight before the sessions, knowing that the Honourable
Jake's constituency would be uniformly kind to him. There Mr. Botcher was
wont to sit (when he was not depressing one of the tiles in the rotunda),
surrounded by his friends and their tobacco smoke, d