Five thousand dollars from Noo Years to Noo Years! More than Jobe Gaskins has cleared since he become the lawful husband of his dear wife Betsy! And jist to think, all them $5,000 paid by taxes. Paid by Jobe and his likes. Poor Mr. Richer, how he must pant and sweat to airn that much money in twelve months—as much as Jobe could airn in twenty years if he could airn $250 every year. Jist to think how Jobe works and sweats, and walks stiff and plans and studies, and don’t airn $250 a year. I expect there wasent a dry thread in all of Mr. Richer’s clothes. I expect that even his pants was wet through every day of that whole year. What big washins poor Mrs. Richer must a had. Jobe he jist couldent stand sich sweatin, day in and day out. It would take a whole barrel of soft soap to keep his clothes clean. Five thousand dollars! Five thousand dollars a year!! Four hundred and sixteen dollars a month!!! Seventeen dollars a day for every workin day in the year! Seventeen dollars! Enough to buy me twenty-four caliker dresses a day! [Illustration: “Jobe works and sweats.”] One every hour!! Seven thousand four hundred and eighty-eight caliker dresses in a year!!! How in the world could I git them all made? I spect poor Mrs. Richer has to so day and nite. And jist to think, all of them 7,488 dresses for one man’s wife! All paid for by taxes. Now I wonder, if them Congressmen dident have to work so hard, and could get along on less pay—I wonder if the tax-payer’s wife wouldent have a dress or two more, even if Mrs. Richer and her likes had to get along on a dress or two less? The Lord knows she could spare them out of all them 7,488 dresses. Well, the idea okepyin my mind most now is: “Where can Jobe git the money to pay all that $2,100, when he haint got even one post-office to sell?” [Illustration] CHAPTER VI. BETTY, THE DRIVIN ANIMAL. EVER since we got that letter from Congressman Richer, demandin his $2,100 by the fust of Aprile, Jobe has been scourin the country fur and near tryin to borrow the money, and, poor man, he is worse destracted than ever. Things haint like they use to be. Nobody seems to have any money to lend. He finds lots of people a huntin money, but nobody a findin any. He has been to Sandyville, and Mineral Pint, and Zoar, and way up in Stark County as fur as New Berlin, and nary the man has he found with $2,100 to lend on good security. What to do Jobe dont know, nor neither do I. Jobe says he will write to Mr. Richer and git him to wait a little longer, until times pick up a little. “But,” says I, “Jobe, when will times pick up?” And the poor man, lookin at me sadder than he has since he become my dear husband, says, says he: “Betsy, the Lord only knows—I dont.” And I think Jobe is right.