“What do you suppose the cuss done to me? He come over and got eight schooner loads!” Mr. Vanderbilt roared with laughter.
“'You're no farmer,' I says to him. 'Come right over and learn the railroad business.'” The Commodore pushed the road-wagon back into its corner.
“On your way to Pittsburg?” he inquired. “Yes, sir,” Mr. McCarthy answered, with a sly wink at me.
“Anything more to say?”
“No, sir.”
“That's good. It's a wise man that knows when he's said enough. Good-night.”
Mr. McCarthy and I left to go to our inn.
“'On your way to Pittsburg?'” said the handmade gentleman, repeating the query of the Commodore. “How did he know that I was going to Pittsburg?”
“He's been at work on your programme, perhaps,” I suggested.
“And has a hand in the affairs of the Central system,” my friend went on. “That's his way of telling me. He has bought the Harlem and Hudson River roads, and has the ring in the bull's nose, and the continuous route is now a certainty. But we are not to talk too much. You can make up your mind that the Commodore knows all about us. I probably don't say or do much that isn't reported to him. A foolish word or two and he would be done with me.”