“‘Well, but hold—hold on,’ says Jones. ‘I—I—we—we will let you have that amount at four per cent.’ “‘Oh, no,’ says you. “‘Well, how will three strike you?’ says Jones. “‘I dont want it at all,’ says you. “‘Come on,’ says I, and we went on up street. When we passed the First National Bank, out comes one of the clerks a hollerin, ‘Mr. Gaskins! Mr. Gaskins!’ We stopped. He came a runnin up and says: ‘Come in now and our people will accommodate you,’ takin hold of your arm and startin back with you. I thought I jist took a hold of your other arm and says, says I: ‘Jobe Gaskins, where yer goin? We dont want any bank money in sich a panic as this. So come on and lets git out of this panic.’ “Well, every last bank we had been to that mornin was a peckin, and a hollerin, and a beckenin to us that evenin, until we like to a never got out of town and away from them. They jist seemed bound to lend you that money whether you wanted it or not. Something had created a panic among them—a panic to git to lend you money. Maybe they had heard of the new law. I dont know.” Durin most of the tellin of my dream Jobe he was leanin his face in his hands, his elbows on the table, eyes wide open, listenin as he never did before. When I finished, says he: “Betsy, that will save us. What a grand country this is!” And he got up and walked across the floor. Comin back and lookin, anxious like, at me, says he: “Betsy, which party did Bill say passed that law—the Dimicrats or the Republicans? It is grand! grand! It will save us.” As he spoke he looked full of joy and happiness. Answerin, says I: “I think I heard John Denison say it was the Popul——” I never got to finish that word. His fist came down on the table like a thousand of bricks. He jumped back into the middle of the floor, cracked his fists together, stamped his foot, and says in a loud voice: “I wont! I wont! I wont do it. It can go fust. Bill Bowers is a dum fool. I wont! I wont!” Says I: “Why, Jobe, what on airth is the matter? What ails you? What yer talkin about anyhow? You wont do what?” Answerin, says he, bringin his fists together agin: “I wont borrow any money from any scheme them tarnal Populists has made into a law. Ile—Ile pay ten per cent. interest fust. Ile not lend my approval to any law they have made.” “Why, sakes alive, Jobe,” says I, “they haint made any law. That was jist a dream I had. What ails you, anyhow?” At that he stepped back a step or two, lookin at me vicious like. Movin his head up and down in short jerks, says he: “Betsy, you must stop it. Stop it at once. Its got you crazy—so crazy you are dreamin about it. You must stop that readin or Ile have you sent to a lunatic asylum.” He went out at the door then, but just as he got out, in time for him to hear it, I hollered: “Its you and your likes that ort to be sent to a lunatic asylum for not seein a thing that you have to turn your back on to keep from seein.”