“Cy, I never see anybody like you. You're dead set against Heman, and have been right along. And he's never done anything to you, fur's I see. He's given a lot to the town, and he's always been the most looked-up-to man we've got. Joe Dimick and two or three more chronic growls have been the only ones to sling out hints against him, till you come. Course I'm working for you, tooth and nail, and I will say that you seem to be gettin' the votes some way or other. But if Heman SHOULD step right out and say: 'Feller citizens, I'm behind Tad Simpson in this fight, and as a favor to me and 'cause I think it's right and best, I want 'Lonzo Snow elected'--well, _I_ don't believe you'd have more'n one jack and a ten spot to count for game.” “Probably not, Ase; I presume likely not. But you take a day off some time and see if you can remember that Heman EVER stepped right out and said things. Blame it! that's just it. As for WHY he riles me up and makes me stubborn as a balky mule, I don't know exactly. All I'm sure is that he does. Maybe it's 'cause I don't like the way he wears his whiskers. Maybe it's because he's so top-lofty and condescendin'. A feller can whistle to me and say: 'Come on, Bill,' and I'll trot at his heels all day. But when he pats me on the head and says: 'There there! nice doggie. Go under the bed and lay down,' my back bristles up and I commence to growl right off. There's consider'ble Whittaker in me, as I've told you before.” The town clerk pondered over this rather unsatisfactory line of reasoning for some minutes. His companion fitted a wooden chimney on the doll house, found it a trifle out of plumb, and proceeded to whittle a shaving off the lower edge. Then Asaph sighed, as one who gives up a perplexing riddle, put his hand in his pocket, and produced a bundle of papers. “I made out a list of fellers down to the east'ard that I'm goin' to see this afternoon,” he said. “Some of 'em I guess 'll vote for you, but most of 'em are pretty sartin' for 'Lonzo. However, I--Where is that list? I had it somewhere's. And--well, I swan! I come pretty near forgettin' it myself. I'm 'most as bad as Bailey.” From the bundle of papers he produced a crumpled envelope. “That Bailey,” he observed, “must be in love, I cal'late, though I don't know who with. Ketury, I s'pose, 'cordin' to law and order, but--Well, anyhow, he's gettin' more absent-minded all the time. Here's a letter for you, Cy, that he got at the post-office a week ago Monday. 'Twas the night of the church sociable, and he had on his Sunday cutaway, and he ain't worn it sence, till the party yesterday. When he took off the coat, goin' to bed, the letter fell out of it. I guess he was ashamed to fetch it round himself, so he asked me to do it. Better late than never, hey? Here's that list at last.”