"Who's he?"
"Do you mean to say you never heard of Miller Gorse?"
"I've been away a long time," I would answer apologetically. A person of some importance among my contemporaries at Harvard, I had looked forward to a residence in my native city with the complacency of one who has seen something of the world,—only to find that I was the least in the new kingdom. And it was a kingdom. Larry opened up to me something of the significance and extent of it, something of the identity of the men who controlled it.
"Miller Gorse," he said impressively, "is the counsel for the railroad."
"What railroad? You mean the—" I was adding, when he interrupted me pityingly.
"After you've been here a while you'll find out there's only one railroad in this state, so far as politics are concerned. The Ashuela and Northern, the Lake Shore and the others don't count."
I refrained from asking any more questions at that time, but afterwards I always thought of the Railroad as spelled with a capital.
"Miller Gorse isn't forty yet," Larry told me on another occasion.
"That's doing pretty well for a man who comes near running this state."
For the sake of acquiring knowledge, I endured Mr. Weed's patronage. I inquired how Mr. Gorse ran the state.
"Oh, you'll find out soon enough," he assured me.