A Knight of the Cumberland [7]
would wait for us to jog along with him. I told him of our troubles, meanwhile. The Wild Dog had restored our mules and the Hon. Sam beamed:
``He's a wonder--where is he?''
``He never waited--even for thanks.''
Again the Hon. Sam beamed:
``Ah! just like him. He's gone ahead to help me.''
``Well, how did he happen to be here?'' I asked.
``He's everywhere,'' said the Hon. Sam.
``How did he know the mules were ours?''
``Easy. That boy knows everything.''
``Well, why did he bring them back and then leave so mysteriously?''
The Hon. Sam silently pointed a finger at the laughing Blight ahead, and I looked incredulous.
``Just the same, that's another reason I told you to warn Marston. He's already got it in his head that Marston is his rival.''
``Pshaw!'' I said--for it was too ridiculous.
``All right,'' said the Hon. Sam placidly.
``Then why doesn't he want to see her?'' ``How do you know he ain't watchin' her now, for all we know? Mark me,'' he added, ``you won't see him at the speakin', but I'll bet fruit cake agin gingerbread he'll be somewhere around.''
So we went on, the two girls leading the way and the Hon. Sam now telling his political troubles to me. Half a mile down the road, a solitary horseman stood waiting, and Mr. Budd gave a low whistle.
``One o' my rivals,'' he said, from the corner of his mouth.
``Mornin','' said the horseman; ``lemme see you a minute.''
He made a movement to draw aside, but the Hon. Samuel made a counter- gesture of dissent.
``This gentleman is a friend of mine,'' he said firmly, but with great courtesy, ``and he can hear what you have to say to me.''
The mountaineer rubbed one huge hand over his stubbly chin, threw one of his long legs over the pommel of his saddle, and dangled a heavy cowhide shoe to and fro.
``Would you mind tellin' me whut pay a member of the House of Legislatur' gits a day?''
The Hon. Sam looked surprised.
``I think about two dollars and a half.''
``An' his meals?''
``No!'' laughed Mr. Budd.
``Well, look-ee here, stranger. I'm a pore man an' I've got a mortgage on my farm. That money don't mean nothin' to you--but if you'll draw out now an' I win, I'll tell ye whut I'll do.'' He paused as though to make sure that the sacrifice was possible. ``I'll just give ye half of that two dollars and a half a day, as shore as you're a-settin' on that hoss, and you won't hav' to hit a durn lick to earn it.''
I had not the heart to smile--nor did the Hon. Samuel--so artless and simple was the man and so pathetic his appeal.
``You see--you'll divide my vote, an' ef we both run, ole Josh Barton'll git it shore. Ef you git out o' the way, I can lick him easy.''
Mr. Budd's answer was kind, instructive, and uplifted.
``My friend,'' said he, ``I'm sorry, but I cannot possibly accede to your request for the following reasons: First, it would not be fair to my constituents; secondly, it would hardly be seeming to barter the noble gift of the people to which we both aspire; thirdly, you might lose with me out of the way; and fourthly, I'm going to win whether you are in the way or not.''
The horseman slowly collapsed while the Hon. Samuel was talking, and now he threw the leg back, kicked for his stirrup twice, spat once, and turned his horse's head.
``I reckon you will, stranger,'' he said sadly, ``with that gift o' gab o' yourn.'' He turned without another word or nod of good-by and started back up the creek whence he had come.
``One gone,'' said the Hon. Samuel Budd grimly, ``and I swear I'm right sorry for him.'' And so was I.
An hour later we struck the river, and another hour upstream brought us to where the contest of tongues was to come about. No sylvan dell in Arcady could have been lovelier than the spot. Above the road, a big spring poured a clear little stream over shining pebbles into the river; above it the bushes hung thick with autumn leaves, and above them stood yellow beeches like pillars of pale fire. On both sides of the road sat and squatted the honest voters,
``He's a wonder--where is he?''
``He never waited--even for thanks.''
Again the Hon. Sam beamed:
``Ah! just like him. He's gone ahead to help me.''
``Well, how did he happen to be here?'' I asked.
``He's everywhere,'' said the Hon. Sam.
``How did he know the mules were ours?''
``Easy. That boy knows everything.''
``Well, why did he bring them back and then leave so mysteriously?''
The Hon. Sam silently pointed a finger at the laughing Blight ahead, and I looked incredulous.
``Just the same, that's another reason I told you to warn Marston. He's already got it in his head that Marston is his rival.''
``Pshaw!'' I said--for it was too ridiculous.
``All right,'' said the Hon. Sam placidly.
``Then why doesn't he want to see her?'' ``How do you know he ain't watchin' her now, for all we know? Mark me,'' he added, ``you won't see him at the speakin', but I'll bet fruit cake agin gingerbread he'll be somewhere around.''
So we went on, the two girls leading the way and the Hon. Sam now telling his political troubles to me. Half a mile down the road, a solitary horseman stood waiting, and Mr. Budd gave a low whistle.
``One o' my rivals,'' he said, from the corner of his mouth.
``Mornin','' said the horseman; ``lemme see you a minute.''
He made a movement to draw aside, but the Hon. Samuel made a counter- gesture of dissent.
``This gentleman is a friend of mine,'' he said firmly, but with great courtesy, ``and he can hear what you have to say to me.''
The mountaineer rubbed one huge hand over his stubbly chin, threw one of his long legs over the pommel of his saddle, and dangled a heavy cowhide shoe to and fro.
``Would you mind tellin' me whut pay a member of the House of Legislatur' gits a day?''
The Hon. Sam looked surprised.
``I think about two dollars and a half.''
``An' his meals?''
``No!'' laughed Mr. Budd.
``Well, look-ee here, stranger. I'm a pore man an' I've got a mortgage on my farm. That money don't mean nothin' to you--but if you'll draw out now an' I win, I'll tell ye whut I'll do.'' He paused as though to make sure that the sacrifice was possible. ``I'll just give ye half of that two dollars and a half a day, as shore as you're a-settin' on that hoss, and you won't hav' to hit a durn lick to earn it.''
I had not the heart to smile--nor did the Hon. Samuel--so artless and simple was the man and so pathetic his appeal.
``You see--you'll divide my vote, an' ef we both run, ole Josh Barton'll git it shore. Ef you git out o' the way, I can lick him easy.''
Mr. Budd's answer was kind, instructive, and uplifted.
``My friend,'' said he, ``I'm sorry, but I cannot possibly accede to your request for the following reasons: First, it would not be fair to my constituents; secondly, it would hardly be seeming to barter the noble gift of the people to which we both aspire; thirdly, you might lose with me out of the way; and fourthly, I'm going to win whether you are in the way or not.''
The horseman slowly collapsed while the Hon. Samuel was talking, and now he threw the leg back, kicked for his stirrup twice, spat once, and turned his horse's head.
``I reckon you will, stranger,'' he said sadly, ``with that gift o' gab o' yourn.'' He turned without another word or nod of good-by and started back up the creek whence he had come.
``One gone,'' said the Hon. Samuel Budd grimly, ``and I swear I'm right sorry for him.'' And so was I.
An hour later we struck the river, and another hour upstream brought us to where the contest of tongues was to come about. No sylvan dell in Arcady could have been lovelier than the spot. Above the road, a big spring poured a clear little stream over shining pebbles into the river; above it the bushes hung thick with autumn leaves, and above them stood yellow beeches like pillars of pale fire. On both sides of the road sat and squatted the honest voters,