The President beckoned with his index finger and his friend came in. Looking him in the eye, the President asked in a stage whisper: "Have you—seen—Jones?"
"No, sir," said the Honorable gentleman. "I had no authority to see him."
"It's damphunny," said O'Marity, "if the President 'ave seen 'im, 'e don't quit."
"I certainly saw a man called Jones,—Buffalo Jones of Garden City. He wanted a side track put in half-way between Wakefield and Turner's Tank."
"And you told him, 'Certainly, we'll do it at once,'" said the General Manager.
"No," the President replied, "I told him we would not do it at once, because there was no business or prospect of business to justify the expense."
"Ah—h," said the Manager.
O'Marity whistled softly.
The Honorable gentleman smiled, and looked out through the open window to where the members of the State legislature were going up the broad steps to the State House.
"Mr. Rong," the Manager began, "it is all a horrible mistake. You have never 'seen' Jones. Not in the sense that we mean. When you see a politician or a man who herds with politicians, he is supposed to be yours,—you are supposed to have acquired a sort of interest in him,—an interest that is valued so long as the individual is in sight. You are entitled to his support and influence, up to, and including the date on which your influence expires." All the time the Manager kept jerking his thumb toward the window that held the Honorable gentleman, using the President's friend as a living example of what he was trying to explain.