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
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