Among other stories told of Mr. Gould are the following:
Some years ago he was tendered the nomination of Rex, the king of the Mardi Gras carnival in New Orleans. He declined this, of course, and when asked jokingly by a friend why he had put ambition away, remarked dryly:
"Well, I don't think the nomination was entirely disinterested or that I would have reigned supreme. I have always heard that there was 'a power behind the throne,' and in this case I am sure of it."
With this he thrust his hand into his pocket and drew forth the letter notifying him of his selection to the high office. Enclosed in it was a bill for $1,000, the price of the honor. The functions of Rex that year were performed by a St. Louis brewer.
Mr. Gould could never accustom himself to take with equanimity the criticism and abuse that were heaped upon his head. He was exceedingly sensitive of ridicule and loathed the term "Little Wizard," by which he was not infrequently designated by the Wall street men and the papers. He often heard himself most grossly abused. Once, it is related, during a particularly vexatious series of delays to a crowded elevated railroad train in which Mr. Gould happened to be, a tall, muscular individual broke out into a torrent.
"It's ridiculous," he shouted. "The accommodations on this road. Absurd! Scandalous! That man Gould won't put on an extra car. Valuable franchise for a song, but an extra train means a dol-
