My friend began to unroll his map, and said, “Here it is.”
The steamboat king was impatient. A sharp exclamation shot from his lips, like the toot of a warning whistle, and he added: “It's bigger'n a bill-board. Unfurl it on the floor there. Run it down into the back parlor.”
In a moment Mr. McCarthy had spread his map and begun talking.
“Here's Albany,” he said, pointing with his cane. “Here's eleven railroads reaching west to Buffalo, called the Central System. Here are others that go on to Chicago and others that run east to Boston. Here is the steamer line from New York to Albany, closed half the year. Here are two lines of railroad that run north from New York to the capital—the Harlem and the Hudson River. The Harlem road can be bought for less than six cents on the dollar. I want you to buy it.”
“What the devil do I want of it?” the Commodore demanded.
“It's the key o' the future, and you need it,” said McCarthy. “It's the beginning of a great plan. First buy the Harlem, and then buy the Hudson River road. And do you not see that all these railroads that run east and west up here can't reach the metropolis without your help—especially in the winter when the steamers are out of business? Did you ever see a small boy lead a big bull? It's surprising how easy he does it when he has a ring in the bull's nose.”
I remembered the bull at Baker's, and felt the truth of his remark.
The Commodore was now leaning over the map and looking down upon it.
“These two railroads will give you command of the whole situation,” my friend continued, “and that's important.”
Mr. McCarthy paused for half a moment.