For the moment the elder Mr. Gaylord was speechless, but young Tom Gaylord clapped his hand heartily on his friend's shoulder.
“That's the reason I wanted to get you down here, Austen,” he cried; “that's what I've been telling the old man all along—perhaps he'll believe you.”
“Then you won't take hold?” said Mr. Gaylord, his voice trembling on the edge of another spasm. “You refuse business?”
“I refuse that kind of business, Mr. Gaylord,” Austen answered quietly, though there was a certain note in his voice that young Tom knew well, and which actually averted the imminent explosion from Mr. Gaylord, whose eyes glared and watered. “But aside from that, you must know that the Republican party leaders in this State are the heads of the lobby of the Northeastern Railroads.”
“I guess I know about Number Seven as well as you do,” old Tom interjected.
Austen's eye flashed.
“Now hold on, father,” said young Tom, “that's no way to talk to Austen.”
“Knowing Number Seven,” Austen continued, “you probably realize that the political and business future of nearly every one of the twenty State senators depends upon the favour of the Northeastern Railroads.”
“I know that the d-d fools won't look at money,” said Mr. Gaylord; “Hammer's tried 'em.”
“I told you that before you started in,” young Tom remarked, “but when you get mad, you won't listen to sense. And then there's the Honourable Asa Gray, who wants to represent the Northeastern some day in the United States Senate.”