onal ones."

Mr. Flint drummed on the table.

"What do you mean by that?" he demanded.

"I mean that I would not engage, for a fee or a pass, to fight the
political battles of a railroad, or undertake any political manipulation
in its behalf whatever."

Mr. Flint leaned forward aggressively.

"How long do you think a railroad would pay dividends if it did not adopt
some means of defending itself from the blackmail politician of the State
legislatures, Mr. Vane? The railroads of which I have the honour to be
president pay a heavy tag in this and other States. We would pay a much
heavier one if we didn't take precautions to protect ourselves. But I do
not intend to quarrel with you, Mr. Vane," he continued quickly,
perceiving that Austen was about to answer him, "nor do I wish to leave
you with the impression that the Northeastern Railroads meddle unduly in
politics."

Austen knew not how to answer. He had not gone there to discuss this last
and really great question with Mr. Flint, but he wondered whether the
president actually thought him the fledgling he proclaimed. Austen laid
his pass on Mr. Flint's desk, and rose.

"I assure you, Mr. Flint, that the spirit which prompted my visit was not
a contentious one. I cannot accept the pass, simply because I do not wish
to be retained."

Mr. Flint eyed him. There was a mark of dignity, of silent power, on this
tall scapegrace of a son of Hilary Vane that the railroad president had
missed at first--probably because he had looked only for the scapegrace.
Mr. Flint ardently desired to treat the matter in the trifling aspect in
which he believed he saw it, to carry it off genially. But an instinct
not yet formulated told the president that he was face to face with an
enemy whose potential powers were not to be despised, and he bristled in
spite of himself.

"There is no statute I know of by which a lawyer can be compelled to
accept a retainer against his will, Mr. Vane," he replied, and overcame
himself with an effort. "But I hope that you will permit me," he added in
another tone, "as an old friend of your father's and as a man of some
little experience in the world, to remark that intolerance is a
characteristic of youth. I had it in the days of Mr. Isaac D.
Worthington, whom you do not remember. I am not addicted to flattery, but
I hope and believe you have a career before you. Talk to your father.
Study the question on both sides,--from the point of view of men who