“No, you can't,” said he. “It was the most telling, off-hand effort of my life.” “You hit him over the head,” I suggested. “So I did; and down he went,” said McCarthy. “It was brutal, but there's nothing in the books to tell a gentleman how he should act when a man tries to buy his honor.” He laughed again, and went on: “I just followed my own impulse and let fly. Sorry I lost my temper, but it's done now. It's a bad situation we're in here. Huge sums of money are dangled before men, and the weak go down. The Commodore has to hold up his end, I suppose. He's got to beat them or they'll ruin him, and then he finds some excuse in the great cause he stands for. I don't blame him so much, but I'm going to keep out of it for a while. It's got to be a matter of matching fortunes, and I'm sick of it. By-and-by I'll step into the firing-line.” Before the skirmishing ended, however, Drew deserted his camp, and the other captains of the enemy quickly came to terms, and the breach in the foundations of the house of Vanderbilt had been repaired. But the Commodore had had enough of Erie, and decided “to let those miserable suckers alone.” The battle was ended. My friends, we may well regret the evils that came of it, but I, for one, rejoice that a commercial enterprise involving the growth and welfare of a continent remained in the hands of a builder and fell not to the kings and princes of destruction. For some two weeks we saw nothing of Bony, and when I met him one day at the entrance of the Capitol I observed a red scar on his forehead. To my surprise, he stopped and greeted me. “What's the matter?” I asked. “Oh, that's where a mule kicked me.” “A mule!” “Yes, and I didn't know he would kick,” said Bony. “All's fair in love and war,” I quoted. “Well, _I'm_ not kicking,” he said, with a smile, as we parted. CHAPTER XI.--AN UNEXPECTED MEETING OF OLD FRIENDS [Illustration: 9332] HAD seen Pearl often in hurried visits to Rushwater, but not since the Erie war began. For three years he had been hard at work in every department of the growing shop as superintendent. Its voices had turned from anger to affection; its people loved this man, for the years had proved him. He was like a father to them. I can think of scores of men and women who followed his counsel in those days of their youth and poverty. I found him, soon after the events I have been describing, ill in his room at Rushwater. His eyes had been failing; one of his old wounds, which had cut deep into his head, was giving him sore trouble and affecting his sight. I was grieved to learn that he could scarcely see me. A young man from the shop was taking care of him.