Carmen gazed at the approaching men with fascinated eyes, although she saw but one, the towering magician who had reared this fairy palace. She saw Ames lead his companion to the door of the little waiting room at their right, and heard the congressman protest against entering.
“But we can talk undisturbed in here,” urged Ames, his hand on the door.
“Better remain out here on the balcony,” replied the congressman nervously, as he moved toward the railing.
Ames laughed and shrugged his enormous shoulders. He understood the man’s repugnance fully. But he humored him.
“You know, Wales,” he said easily, going to the railing and peering over at the brilliant assemblage below, “if I could get the heathen Chinee to add an extra half-inch to his shirt length, I’d make a hundred millions. And then, perhaps, I wouldn’t need to struggle with your Ways and Means Committee as I do. By the way, the cotton schedule will be reported out unchanged, I presume.” He turned and looked quizzically at his companion as he said this.
Wales trembled slightly when he replied to the question he had been awaiting. “I think not, Mr. Ames.”
The giant’s face clouded. “Parsons will vote for it,” he said suggestively. “What will you do?”
The congressman hesitated. “I––the party, Mr. Ames, is committed to the high tariff principle. We can not let in a flood of foreign cotton––”
“Then you want the fight between the farmers and spinners to continue, eh?” interposed Ames cynically. “You don’t seem to realize that in the end both will get more money than they are getting now, and that it will come from the consumer, who will pay vastly higher for his finished products, in addition to the tariff. Do you get me?”