uckled Pullwool. "By jiminy, I believe
they'd shell out for a bill to make their town a seaport, if it was a
hundred miles from a drop of water."

But he was not content with individual subscriptions, and
conscientiously scorned himself until he had got at the city treasury.

"The corporation must pony up," he insisted, with the mayor. "This bill
is just shaking in the wind for lack of money. Fastburg must come down
with the dust. You ought to see to it. What are you chief magistrate
for? Ain't it to tend to the welfare of the city? Look here, now; you
call the common council together; secret session, you understand. You
call 'em together and let me talk to 'em. I want to make the loons
comprehend that it's their duty to vote something handsome for this
measure."

The mayor hummed and hawed one way, and then he hawed and hummed the
other way, and the result was that he granted the request. There was a
secret session in the council-room, with his honor at the top of the
long green table, with a row of more or less respectable functionaries
on either side of it, and with Mr. Pullwool and the Devil at the
bottom. Of course it is not to be supposed that this last-named
personage was visible to the others, or that they had more than a vague
suspicion of his presence. Had he fully revealed himself, had he
plainly exhibited his horns and hoofs, or even so much as uncorked his
perfume-bottle of brimstone, it is more than probable that the city
authorities would have been exceedingly scandalized, and they might
have adjourned the session. As it was, seeing nothing more disagreeable
than the obese form of the lobbyist, they listened calmly while he
unfolded his project.

Mr. Pullwool spoke at length, and to Fastburg ears eloquently. Fastburg
must be the sole capital; it had every claim, historical, geographical,
and commercial, to that distinction; it ought, could, would, and should
be the sole capital; that was about the substance of his exordium.

"But, gentlemen, it will cost," he went on. "There is an unscrupulous
and furious opposition to the measure. The other side--those fellows
from Slowburg and vicinity--are putting their hands into their
britches-pockets. You must put your hands into yours. The thing will be
worth millions to Fastburg. But it will cost thousands. Are you ready
to fork over? _Are_ you ready?"

"What's the figure?" asked one of the councilmen. "What do you
estimate?"

"Gentlemen, I shall astonish