"Send him in and stay near the telephone," said Gertrude. And a moment later a stranger entered,—a well-dressed, heavily mustached man of forty-five.
"Your Honor, the Mayor," he began. "I am proud to meet the first woman who sits in a mayor's chair in America." He waited for her to be seated and then drew up a chair close to her desk.
"Thank you. Let us hope I may not be the last," answered Gertrude.
"There will never be one that will grace the office more completely," returned the stranger gallantly. "Although, you will say that a mayor of either sex should not be chosen for graciousness alone."
"That is what I was about to say," said Gertrude. "But I am glad you recognize that firmer qualities are necessary, Mr.—Pardon me, did you give me your name?"
"Perhaps not," was the suave reply. "I am Orlando Vickery. I represent the Boulevard Railway Co."
Gertrude mastered her astonishment. This elegant person, then, was the man who was accused of trying to push his franchise through City Hall, illegally.
"I called to talk over matters with you," he was saying. "I feel that if you were to understand our position exactly, what we hope to do for the public, what we intend to do for the development of the city, I might persuade you that our cause is a just one—that we are entitled to all we ask and that, really, we are making a most liberal arrangement for the city."
"I do not fully understand just what you want to do," admitted the mayor. "Won't you explain?"
He did so at considerable length, entering into a voluble account of the proposed railroad and its expected earnings, and detailing at some length the advantages to that part of Roma which the proposed line would open up.