To pluck the honors of the
Senate at last from a divided State, is a testimony to the lawyer's
great abilities. Joe thinks, with a sigh of regret, that some mere
animated money-bag may sit under the white dome, and misrepresent
the sovereign State of California. "Well, if Hardin won't bend,
he's got to break." The miner puffs his cigar in search of wisdom.
Single-minded and unswerving, Woods goes directly to his splendid
rooms at the "Golden Eagle," on reaching Sacramento.
The capital city of the State is crowded with legislators and attaches.
The lobby banditti, free lances, and camp followers of the annual
raid upon the pockets of the people are on guard. While his meal is
being served in his parlor, he indites a note to Hardin's political
Mark Antony. It will rest with him to crown a triumph or deliver
his unheard oration over the body of a politically dead Caesar.
The billet reads:
"I want you instantly, on a matter deciding Hardin's election. You
can show him this."
In half an hour, over burgundy and the ever-flowing champagne,
Woods, feeling his visitor in good humor, fires his first gun. He
begins with half-shut eyes, in a genial tone:
"Harris, I have sent for you to tell you Hardin and me have locked
horns over some property.
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