Shore get it, the
product will be shipped out by the L and G, and the Railroad will lose.
What would Barbour say?"

Mr. Barbour, as I have perhaps mentioned, was the president of the
Railroad, and had his residence in the other great city of the state. He
was then, I knew, in the West.

"We've got to act now," insisted Mr. Watling. "That's open and shut. If
you have any other plan, I wish you'd trot it out. If not, I want a
letter to Paul Varney and the governor. I'm going to send Paret down with
them on the night train."

It was clear to me then, in the discussion following, that Mr. Watling's
gift of persuasion, though great, was not the determining factor in Mr.
Gorse's decision. He, too, possessed boldness, though he preferred
caution. Nor did the friendship between the two enter into the
transaction. I was impressed more strongly than ever with the fact that a
lawsuit was seldom a mere private affair between two persons or
corporations, but involved a chain of relationships and nine times out of
ten that chain led up to the Railroad, which nearly always was vitally
interested in these legal contests. Half an hour of masterly presentation
of the situation was necessary before Mr. Gorse became convinced that the
introduction of the bill was the only way out for all concerned.

"Well, I guess you're right, Theodore," he said at length. Whereupon he
seized his pen and wrote off two notes with great rapidity. These he
showed to Mr. Watling, who nodded and returned them. They were folded and
sealed, and handed to me. One was addressed to Colonel Paul Varney, and
the other to the Hon. W. W. Trulease, governor of the state.

"You can trust this young man?" demanded Mr. Gorse.

"I think so," replied Mr. Watling, smiling at me. "The bill was his own
idea."

The railroad attorney wheeled about in his chair and looked at me; looked
around me, would better express it, with his indefinite, encompassing yet
inclusive glance. I had riveted his attention. And from henceforth, I
knew, I should enter into his calculations. He had made for me a
compartment in his mind.

"His own idea!" he repeated.

"I merely suggested it," I was putting in, when he cut me short.

"Aren't you the son of Matthew Paret?"

"Yes," I said.

He gave me a queer glance, the significance of which I left untranslated.
My excitement was too great to analyze what he meant by this mention of
my father....

When we reached the sidewalk my chief ga