hed to his satisfaction,
and I had picked it out on the typewriter. As I handed it to him, my
chief held it a moment, gazing at me with an odd smile.

"You seem to have acquired a good deal of useful knowledge, here and
there, Hugh," he observed.

"I've tried to keep my eyes open, Mr. Watling," I said.

"Well," he said, "there are a great many things a young man practising
law in these days has to learn for himself. And if I hadn't given you
credit for some cleverness, I shouldn't have wanted you here. There's
only one way to look at--at these matters we have been discussing, my
boy, that's the common-sense way, and if a man doesn't get that point of
view by himself, nobody can teach it to him. I needn't enlarge upon it"

"No, sir," I said.

He smiled again, but immediately became serious.

"If Mr. Gorse should approve of this bill, I'm going to send you down to
the capital--to-night. Can you go?"

I nodded.

"I want you to look out for the bill in the legislature. Of course there
won't be much to do, except to stand by, but you will get a better idea
of what goes on down there."

I thanked him, and told him I would do my best.

"I'm sure of that," he replied. "Now it's time to go to see Gorse."

The legal department of the Railroad occupied an entire floor of the Corn
Bank building. I had often been there on various errands, having on
occasions delivered sealed envelopes to Mr. Gorse himself, approaching
him in the ordinary way through a series of offices. But now, following
Mr. Watling through the dimly lighted corridor, we came to a door on
which no name was painted, and which was presently opened by a
stenographer. There was in the proceeding a touch of mystery that revived
keenly my boyish love for romance; brought back the days when I had been,
in turn, Captain Kidd and Ali Baba.

I have never realized more strongly than in that moment the psychological
force of prestige. Little by little, for five years, an estimate of the
extent of Miller Gorse's power had been coming home to me, and his
features stood in my mind for his particular kind of power. He was a
tremendous worker, and often remained in his office until ten and eleven
at night. He dismissed the stenographer by the wave of a hand which
seemed to thrust her bodily out of the room.

"Hello, Miller," said Mr. Watling.

"Hello, Theodore," replied Mr. Gorse.

"This is Paret, of my office."

"I know," said Mr. Gorse, and nodded toward me. I