We went with him to a large stable back of the house. I recall my wonder at its size and comfort and cleanliness, and the splendor of its many vehicles and trappings. Yet it was not fine enough for the Commodore, who, seeing a wisp of straw on the floor of the carriage-room, larrupped the coachman with high words. Then a quick, spoken command: “Bring out the mare!” Out came the mare in a jiffy, and Mr. Vanderbilt looked into her mouth and felt her throat and legs, and said, presently, “Take her back, and have her bled in the morning.” He let down the shafts of a light road-wagon and rolled it to the middle of the floor. “There's a good wagon,” said he. “Take hold of the axle and heft it.” We did so, and were surprised at the lightness of the graceful thing. “Not much heavier than a tom-cat,” said the Commodore, “and it cost me ten thousand dollars.” “Ten thousand dollars! Why, it cost as much as a house!” said Mr. McCarthy. “As much as some houses,” the Commodore went on. “I sent for a good carriage-builder and told him to plan the lightest wagon that would safely carry my weight. He brought the plan for a fifty-eight pound wagon at fifteen hundred dollars. 'Twon't do,' says I. 'Make it just as strong and five pounds lighter and I'll double your pay.' Well, he came back by-and-by with a plan for a fifty-pound wagon for three thousand dollars. 'That's the best you can do, is it?' says I. 'Well,' says he, 'I might get it down a few ounces if I had time to study the problem.' 'Take time,' says I, 'and I'll pay you a hundred dollars an ounce for all the weight you can take out of the wagon, but you must keep it as strong as it is now.' He took four pounds off the weight of it, and the saving cost me sixteen hundred dollars a pound. Money is quite a stimulant if it's used right.” The gentleman stood looking thoughtfully at the Commodore. When the story was finished he struck the air with his hand, saying: “Mr. Vanderbilt, that wagon is worth its weight in diamonds.” We looked into his glowing eyes, and he went on: “Let me tell you why. If brains, rightly stimulated, can reduce the weight of a road-wagon without any loss of strength, let's see what they can do with our big, clumsy freight and passenger cars. If we could take a hundred pounds off every car in the country, think what it would mean. That weight could be turned from expense into income. Think of the saving in power and fuel. It would mean millions of dollars!” “Well, boy, go to work on that proposition,” said the Commodore. “I'll give you a dollar for every pound you save on every car that runs over my tracks. I wish to God that my boy Bill had your push!” “You are very kind, sir,” said McCarthy. “Look out for the weight of your head,” Mr.