“Doubtless you come from Valley Forge,” he suggested. “Going home, possibly, on leave.” “Take it that way,” assented Jukes, not entirely pleased at the deception but considering it the better policy. The elderly gentleman looked at the forbidding sky. “It will snow heavily all night. You had better take shelter soon. There’s a tavern a mile down the road. You’ll find it agreeable.” “Tavern,” grunted Jukes. “Where’d you figger I’d get money to spend in a tavern? I ain’t been paid in fourteen months.” “But you most assuredly can’t sleep in the open,” protested the squire. “It’s devilish cold these nights.” Jukes looked at the man’s fine clothes with sudden resentment. “I’ve slept in worse. An’ there’s plenty o’ barns along the way.” “Nonsense. Let it not be said of Pennsylvania that she neglected her soldiers. We’ll stop at the tavern and I shall have the fellow take care of you overnight. Consider yourself as my guest.” “And who,” demanded Jukes, “might you be?” “I, sir, am St. Louis Cotton, of Cotton Hall and member of the Pennsylvania Assembly.” “A lawyer of the Congress?” demanded Jukes, flinging up his head. “Not of the Continental Congress. I have not that honor. But of the Pennsylvania Assembly.” The distinction was not fine enough to check Jukes’ animosity. Here was one of the gentry who debated and dallied and broke their promises and appointed futile committees while the army starved. “---- your hospitality!” he cried. “I take nothin’ from shilly-shally lawyers. ’Tis your kind that makes misery fer the army. ’Tis you who eat well an’ sleep warm while the rest o’ us go without!” St. Louis Cotton, esquire, sat bolt upright in the saddle and blew through his nose. “That is cursed impertinence, sir. I offer you the gratitude of a State and you answer it like a wagon-master. I see you are another of those infested with disrespect for the people’s legislatures. There is some sinister influence at work amongst you.” “Influence o’ an empty belly,” retorted Jukes. “An’ what do you fine gentlemen accomplish, I’d like to know? When we ask fer vittals an’ food we get smart promises. We starve an’ you tell us we eat too much meat anyway. You’re a pack o’ scoundrels an’ the country’d be better without you! ’Tis no credit due you General Washington wins his battles!” The squire held his peace and Jukes, looking upward through the fast thickening dusk, could make out the ruddy face screwed to the point of apoplexy. “Fire away, old man,” he added contemptuously. “Give us some o’ them pretty words you use so nice on committees.” The squire spoke with a commendable restraint-- “I suppose members of the army could do better, were they elected to serve in the Congress?” “There’d be no shilly-shally, I tell you.”