“What do we say to the gentleman from New York, and late of St. Lawrence County?” The dog barked almost gleefully. “You are right, Mr. Barker. We are delighted to see him. We bid him welcome to the growing village of Rushwater. We do, indeed.” He led me to the turbine. “See,” he said, “it runs smoother and makes less noise; it has got dignity; it knows how to handle its power.” I could not help thinking that it was, in a way, like McCarthy himself. Well, I had no sooner entered the stirring life of the shop at Rushwater than things began to happen. One day Mr. Horace Bulger came into the office, where I sat alone with the gentleman. The power of Mr. Bulger was universally known and respected. He ran the politics of the county. For years no citizen within its boundaries had been elected to office without his consent. He was born poor; he had neither toiled nor spun; he never seemed to want anything for himself, but, somehow, Mr. Bulger had prospered, and very handsomely, as things went. “I have something to say to you,” said Mr. Bulger, addressing the hand-made gentleman. “Say it,” said the latter. “Perhaps it had better be confidential.” “Go right ahead. This young man is my private secretary, and knows all my business. If I should sell my soul, he'd have to know the price.” Mr. Bulger hesitated. “I do not need to say that your confidence will be respected by both of us,” my friend added. “Mr. McCarthy,” said the wily Bulger, as he dropped into a chair, “I think you are likely to be nominated by the Republicans of our district for the Assembly.” “You are too confident, Mr. Bulger,” said the hand-made gentleman. “I will bet you three thousand dollars that I am not nominated and elected this year.” Those old models of gentlemanhood, after which Mr. McCarthy had fashioned himself, saw no harm in a wager. The politician thought a moment and smiled. Then said he: “I will take the bet, and am ready to post the money.” “Your check is good enough,” Mr. McCarthy answered. “No checks,” said the other. “Let's make it money.” “Who shall be the stake-holder?” was the inquiry of my friend. “Your secretary--if you will vouch for him.” “I'd trust my life with him,” said the handmade gentleman. So the money was put into my hands, to be deposited to my credit in Mr. Bulger's bank. “One thing I have to ask,” Mr. McCarthy added: “You know I have no secrets, and don't want any. I'm not ashamed of this bet, and I hope you're not.” “Not a bit,” said Mr. Bulger. “All right then; we've got nothing to cover up.” “Not a thing.” “Good! I want everything aboveboard. We can either of us tell the whole truth if it should seem necessary.” When Mr. Bulger had left us, I turned to my friend McCarthy and said: “You're sure to be elected now.”