rily brief letter from
the Northeastern's president to remind him that he persisted in a
fallacy; as a neighbour, Mr. Flint would help him to the extent of his
power, but the Northeastern Railroads could not interfere in legislative
or political matters. Mr. Crewe was naturally pained by the lack of
confidence of his friend; it seems useless to reiterate that he was far
from being a fool, and no man could be in the capital a day during the
session without being told of the existence of Number Seven, no matter
how little the informant might know of what might be going on there.
Mr. Crewe had been fortunate enough to see the inside of that mysterious
room, and, being a sufficiently clever man to realize the importance and
necessity of government by corporations, had been shocked at nothing he
had seen or heard. However, had he had a glimpse of the Speaker's lists
under the hopelessly crushed hat of Mr. Bascom, perhaps he might have
been shocked, after all.

It was about this time that a touching friendship began which ought, in
justice, to be briefly chronicled. It was impossible for the Honourable
Brush Bascom and the Honourable Jacob Botcher to have Mr. Crewe sitting
between them and not conceive a strong affection for him. The Honourable
Brush, though not given to expressing his feelings, betrayed some
surprise at the volumes Mr. Crewe had contributed to the stream of
bills; and Mr. Botcher, in a Delphic whisper, invited Mr. Crewe to visit
him in room forty-eight of the Pelican that evening. To tell the truth,
Mr. Crewe returned the feeling of his companions warmly, and he had even
entertained the idea of asking them both to dine with him that evening.

Number forty-eight (the Honourable Jake's) was a free-and-easy
democratic resort. No three knocks and a password before you turn
the key here. Almost before your knuckles hit the panel you heard
Mr. Botcher's hearty voice shouting "Come in," in spite of the closed
transom. The Honourable Jake, being a tee-totaller, had no bathroom,
and none but his intimate friends ever looked in the third from the top
bureau drawer.

The proprietor of the Pelican, who in common with the rest of humanity
had fallen a victim to the rough and honest charms and hearty good
fellowship of the Honourable Jake, always placed a large padded
arm-chair in number forty-eight before the sessions, knowing that the
Honourable Jake's constituency would be uniformly kind to him. There Mr.
Botcher wa