Vance bit his lips, and mentally concluded to investigate very thoroughly before he quit Waterville. “You see,” Gibbons [59] went on, “all us fellers are down on the Town Company. We don’t like corporations, nohow; they don’t give us honorable-intentioned fellers a fair chance. We are the men that’s buildin’ up this here town—givin’ it the bone, and the sinew, and the standin’, so to speak. Don’t you see?” “Yes,” said Vance, “I understand,” and begging to be excused, he turned and walked away from the “honorable-intentioned” Steve Gibbons, and soon after sought the privacy of his own room in the Ballard House. Dick Ballard was a Grand Army man, and kept the only hotel of any importance in Waterville. The only thing first-class about it was the price for lodging. Immediately after the average traveler settled his bill at the Ballard, there was generally a half-distinct impression in his mind that he had been stopping at a first-class hotel, but the remembrance of three kinds of meat cooked in the same kettle was not easily forgotten. As Vance sat in his room, in anything but a pleasant frame of mind, there came a gentle knock on his door. He quickly admitted his visitor, and found it was Dick Ballard, the proprietor. “I reckon,” said he, as soon as he stepped in, “you’ll be one of us by and by. Bought property already, and a mighty good buy you’ve made of it, too. Oh, you know a good thing when you see it; you bet yer life you do.” “Do you think,” said Vance, “the lots I purchased were reasonable at the price?” “I should say so; yes, sir, mighty cheap. This here town is comin out of the kinks in fine shape. We’ll have a drum corps in our State militia before another year; you bet we will. I presume you know we have the finest drilled company at Waterville, outside the regular army, in the state?” “I have been told,” said Vance, “that I paid too much [60] for the property. I am more interested in learning the truth or untruth of the statement than I am about your militia company.” 0068 “Who told you that:” asked Ballard, with indignation. As Vance did not answer, the hotel proprietor went on to say: “I’ll bet it was J. Arthur Boast. Now, look’ee here, Mr. Gilder, you can’t believe everything these fellers tell you.” The truth of this remark pressed itself on Vance so [61] forcibly, and his indignation getting the better of him, he turned upon Dick Ballard and said bitterly: “Who in thunderation can I believe?” “You can believe me, sir, and I’ll produce prima facie evidence of everything I say. This town is all right; your investment is a good one, and the man who says it is not is surely trying to stick his nose into other people’s business—but, say, hold on a minute,” said Ballard, as if he had forgotten something, “will you take a drink?” and he produced a bottle from his pocket. “No, thank you,” said Vance.