“I have learned this,” said the hand-made gentleman: “business is war. I see it clearer every day. If you want respect you've got to fight for it.” We recovered our composure by-and-by, and spent the rest of the day among tradesmen extending the acquaintance of Sal and the sisters of Sal. At half-past seven we presented ourselves at the house of the Commodore at 10 Washington Square. Mr. McCarthy carried his map under his arm, and it was about half the diameter of a piece of stove-pipe. A servant showed us into a large parlor. We could see Mr. Vanderbilt in a room back of it, sitting by a table in his shirt-sleeves reading a newspaper. We observed him fearfully as he took our cards from the tray--plain written cards they were, save that Mr. McCarthy's had a bird on it, drawn by his secretary. He flung his paper aside and rose--a splendid figure of a man, full chest, broad shoulders, and the six feet of him straight as an arrow--and came slowly into the parlor where we sat. “Well, sonny, what can I do for you?” he asked. “I have a map to show you,” said Mr. McCarthy. “Where is it?” was the sharp query of the Commodore. My friend began to unroll his map, and said, “Here it is.” The steamboat king was impatient. A sharp exclamation shot from his lips, like the toot of a warning whistle, and he added: “It's bigger'n a bill-board. Unfurl it on the floor there. Run it down into the back parlor.” In a moment Mr. McCarthy had spread his map and begun talking. “Here's Albany,” he said, pointing with his cane. “Here's eleven railroads reaching west to Buffalo, called the Central System. Here are others that go on to Chicago and others that run east to Boston. Here is the steamer line from New York to Albany, closed half the year. Here are two lines of railroad that run north from New York to the capital--the Harlem and the Hudson River. The Harlem road can be bought for less than six cents on the dollar. I want you to buy it.” “What the devil do I want of it?” the Commodore demanded. “It's the key o' the future, and you need it,” said McCarthy. “It's the beginning of a great plan. First buy the Harlem, and then buy the Hudson River road. And do you not see that all these railroads that run east and west up here can't reach the metropolis without your help--especially in the winter when the steamers are out of business? Did you ever see a small boy lead a big bull? It's surprising how easy he does it when he has a ring in the bull's nose.” I remembered the bull at Baker's, and felt the truth of his remark. The Commodore was now leaning over the map and looking down upon it. “These two railroads will give you command of the whole situation,” my friend continued, “and that's important.” Mr. McCarthy paused for half a moment. “Go on, go on,” said the Commodore; “let's have your argument.”