“Well, Betsy,” says he, “if it haint Populist it seems to me that it is worth thinkin about.” So, havin for one time held Jobe down to a finish and got him to thinkin, I unloosed the rope and straps, kissed him out loud on the cheek and let him up. He riz up, stretched out his legs and arms, gapped a time or two and says: “Betsy, Ime glad you tied me down.” Then he went out to do up the evenin chores. Now, if I could only keep Jobe away from them office-seekers and polerticians; if I could only keep him a thinkin, I would have some hopes; but as it is, no tellin how soon the good lesson of his wife may be overcome by a smooth-tongued canderdate. [Illustration] CHAPTER XXXI. JOBE BLOWS A FISH-HORN. JOBE has been so busy tryin to git Mr. Bushnell, the millionair, elected governor, that he forgot about his interest bein due at the bank. He stayed to town the nite of the election till the chickens were crowin for daylite. It was nearly mornin when I heerd the patriotic sounds of the fish-horn. I got up and looked out of the winder, and there was Jobe a comin up the lane, with his breadbasket stuck out and his head throwed back, blowin that fish-horn as though his life depended on it, and every now and then he would stop, take off his hat and holler for Bushnell, jist as loud as he could holler. Well, he come in and acted the fool worse nor a drunk man, till he nearly wore my patience out. He said the gold basis bizness had succeeded and now one dollar was jist as good as another, and asked me if I wasent ashamed that I was a Dimicrat, and all sich fool questions. Well, he got to bed at last and went to sleep, and in the mornin dident want to git up; so I jist let him lay. [Illustration: “IT WAS NEARLY MORNIN WHEN I HEERD THE PATRIOTIC SOUNDS OF THE FISH-HORN.”] About 9 o’clock a feller rid up to our gate and hitched, come to the door and asked if this is where Mr. Gaskins lives. Says I: “It is where Jobe Gaskins lives.” He handed me a paper and told me to give it to Mr. Gaskins. I took it in and waked Jobe up and got him his “specks.” [Illustration: “He looked kind a pale.”] He unfolded the paper and read it over to hisself. I saw he was worked up. Says I: “What is it, Jobe—an appintment from Bushnell?” He looked kind a pale. Says he: “No, Betsy, its a summons to court in the case of Vinting, the banker, agin Gaskins; he has begun foreclosin proceedins agin us, Betsy.” I looked at him a minit. He dident look up. Says I: “The official returns are comin in quite airly, haint they?” I then went back to the door, and the court officer was gone. Poor Jobe got up in a little bit, lookin worried. When he come out in the kitchen I handed him his fish-horn and says, says I: “Give us a tune, Jobe.” He dident offer to toot a toot. He jist looked hurt.