too conspicuous to be overlooked. Yet it is doubtful if she had ever
been up the steps leading to the gilded-domed capitol in her life. She
went about much; and the unchaperoned life which in virtue of her
widowhood and her love of freedom she chose to lead, the width of the
circle over which her acquaintance extended, allowed her to carry on
her work unobserved; so that while a great variety of stories of one
sort of queerness or another were told of Mrs. Sampson, this particular
side of her career was almost unknown.

"There is Mr. Greenfield," Mrs. Sampson observed, tapping her teeth
with her pencil. "His wife was a cousin of my husband. I don't know
them at all, but I could easily ask him to come and see me. It would be
only proper to offer him the hospitality of the town, you know."

"Good!" cried Mr. Irons, slapping his open palm down on his knee.
"Greenfield's the hardest nut we've got to crack in the whole business.
He's the sort of man you can't talk to on a square business basis.
You've got to mince things damned fine with him, and he's chairman of
the Railroad Committee, you know. He'd have a tremendous amount of
influence, anyway."

"He's a little tin god at Fentonville, I've heard," Mrs. Sampson
responded, laughing in the mechanical way which was her habit. "When
he's at home they say the sun doesn't rise there till he's given his
permission."

Irons in his excitement took his leg down from its supporting chair and
sat up straight, dropping his list of members to the floor and clasping
his knees with his heavy hands.