“Of course I am,” said the gentleman. “But he's got some work on his hands. I cannot understand his coming here. To begin with, he'll have to settle that strike for me, and it may not be so easy. He's got to unravel a lot of his own knitting or pay the forfeit. I don't think he knows what it means.” We both laughed for a moment, after which he went on: “It's his funeral--not mine. A gentleman can bet, but he could not make a bargain for a seat in the legislature, and it's undignified and immoral to pay for votes. Bulger has got to do the work.” I regret sometimes that Mr. McCarthy had not then the surer light that came in due time. He was very human, so do not expect too much of him. That day our evening paper contained this announcement:= ```Vanderbilt Owns the Harlem Road--Will ````The Steamboat King Lead the Iron `````Horse Cavalry in its Westward ``````Charge?= “Now I understand,” said the hand-made gentleman; “Bulger was acting under orders when he came here to-day.” “Do you mean to tell me that Vanderbilt controls the Republican party?” I asked. “He wants honest and progressive men in the legislature, and has a hand in many a caucus,” said McCarthy. “He's got to do it or have a lot of pirates to reckon with when he goes up to Albany for the legislation he needs. Any man likely to block the wheels of progress is killed in the conventions, if not before. He's paving the way for a new era.” CHAPTER II.--IN WHICH PEARL'S OLD MARE BEGINS TO HURRY US ALONG [Illustration: 9257] EARL had learned how to use and control the great draft-horse of the river. At a touch of his finger a belt moved, and up went the push of the falling waters into a thousand feet of shafting. Other levers could divide this stream of power into some forty currents guided by leathern belts to the labor-saving devices of my able friend. These latter had doubled the capacity of the shop without increasing its working force, and soon the machines which made “Sal and Sal's Sisters” began to be regarded as the rivals--and even as the enemies--of labor. The candidacy of Mr. McCarthy had been announced; the caucuses were coming on; no sign of opposition had developed. One morning the gentleman came in with important news. “They will strike to-morrow,” he said. “I have learned the whole plot. Gaffney, that little red-headed Irishman who is the boss of the wrapping-room, is at the bottom of it. They had a secret session last night and made him spokesman. He will come here to-morrow morning and ask me to put out the machines. If I refuse, they will quit and fight me.” He sat, thoughtfully, tapping with his pencil. In half a moment he said: “That man Gaffney has quite a head on him. I think I'll promote the fellow.” “Promote him!” I exclaimed. “Yes; I never discharge anybody. I promote people if it becomes necessary to get rid of them.” He tapped his call-bell, and said to the errand boy, “Ask Mr. Gaffney to come here.”