“Oh, Mr. Barker!” he called, when the goggles were in place again.
Mr. Barker took his stand in the old familiar attitude of receiver for the firm.
“What do we say to the gentleman from New York, and late of St. Lawrence County?”
The dog barked almost gleefully.
“You are right, Mr. Barker. We are delighted to see him. We bid him welcome to the growing village of Rushwater. We do, indeed.”
He led me to the turbine.
“See,” he said, “it runs smoother and makes less noise; it has got dignity; it knows how to handle its power.”
I could not help thinking that it was, in a way, like McCarthy himself.
Well, I had no sooner entered the stirring life of the shop at Rushwater than things began to happen. One day Mr. Horace Bulger came into the office, where I sat alone with the gentleman. The power of Mr. Bulger was universally known and respected. He ran the politics of the county. For years no citizen within its boundaries had been elected to office without his consent. He was born poor; he had neither toiled nor spun; he never seemed to want anything for himself, but, somehow, Mr. Bulger had prospered, and very handsomely, as things went.
“I have something to say to you,” said Mr. Bulger, addressing the hand-made gentleman.