set about the accumulation of those fortunes.

In a half-sense the two became partners; for while a lawmaker can be
highly useful to a man of energy outside the halls of legislation, the
converse is every inch as true. They must be folk of course who know and
trust one another; and, aside from marrying sisters--a fact calculated
to quickly teach two gentlemen the worst and the best about each
other--John Harley and Senator Hanway had been as Damon and Pythias for
a decade. Not that either would have died for the other, but he would
have lied and plotted and defrauded and stopped at nothing short of
murder for him, which, considering the money appetites of the pair and
those schemes they had for feeding them, should be vastly more
important.

When Senator Hanway came to Washington, John Harley and his wife,
Barbara Hanway-Harley as she preferred to style herself, came with him.
Senator Hanway made his home with the Harleys, when now he was a
widower; and the trio, with the daughter, Dorothy--named for the
Senator's wife--who lost her boot heel when Richard lost his heart, made
up a family of four, and took their place in Capital annals.

John Harley had a red and jovial face that promised conviviality. It was
the custom with John Harley to slap a new acquaintance on the shoulder
and hail him as "Old Man." He was long of body, short of leg, apoplectic
as to neck--a girthy, thick, explosive, boisterous gentleman, who could
order a good dinner and could eat one. He could find you a fair bottle
of wine, and then assist in emptying it. He aimed at the open and frank
and generous, and was willing you should think him of high temper, one
who would on provocation deal a knock-down blow.