“Don’t worry about them, George,” he continued genially and confidentially.  “You and I together can know and do as much as they ever could and more.  I’m telling you.  Take this railroad deal you’re in on now, George; you and I could manipulate that just as well and better than it can be done with Wycroft, Strobik, and Harmon in on it.  They’re not adding anything to the wisdom of the situation.  They’re not putting up any money.  You’re doing that.  All they’re doing is agreeing to see it through the legislature and the council, and as far as the legislature is concerned, they can’t do any more with that than any one else could—­than I could, for instance.  It’s all a question of arranging things with Relihan, anyhow, putting up a certain amount of money for him to work with.  Here in town there are other people who can reach the council just as well as Strobik.”  He was thinking (once he controlled a road of his own) of conferring with Butler and getting him to use his influence.  It would serve to quiet Strobik and his friends.  “I’m not asking you to change your plans on this North Pennsylvania deal.  You couldn’t do that very well.  But there are other things.  In the future why not let’s see if you and I can’t work some one thing together?  You’ll be much better off, and so will I. We’ve done pretty well on the city-loan proposition so far, haven’t we?”

The truth was, they had done exceedingly well.  Aside from what the higher powers had made, Stener’s new house, his lots, his bank-account, his good clothes, and his changed and comfortable sense of life were largely due to Cowperwood’s successful manipulation of these city-loan certificates.  Already there had been four issues of two hundred thousand dollars each.  Cowperwood had bought and sold nearly three million dollars’ worth of these certificates, acting one time as a “bull” and another as a “bear.”  Stener was now worth all of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

“There’s a line that I know of here in the city which could be made into a splendidly paying property,” continued Cowperwood, meditatively, “if the right things could be done with it.  Just like this North Pennsylvania line, it isn’t long enough.  The territory it serves isn’t big enough.  It ought to be extended; but if you and I could get it, it might eventually be worked with this North Pennsylvania Company or some other as one company.  That would save officers and offices and a lot of things.  There is always money to be made out of a larger purchasing power.”

He paused and looked out the window of his handsome little hardwood office, speculating upon the future.  The window gave nowhere save into a back yard behind another office building which had formerly been a residence.  Some grass grew feebly there.  The red wall and old-fashioned brick fence which divided it from the next lot reminded him somehow of his old home in New Market Street, to which his Uncle Seneca used to come as a Cuban trader followed by his black Portuguese servitor.  He could see him now as he sat here looking at the yard.