She snatched the other blanket away from Gooch and hurried to the kitchen. After an awkward pause, rendered painful by the presence of the two Gooches, the company made a simultaneous effort to break the ice that suddenly had clogged the flow of conversation. “Eighteen miles through all this—” “From your telegram we thought a death had—” “It’s an ill wind that blows no—” “That’s a mighty fine pair of mares you—” “Nobody likely to knock at the—” Young Mrs. Sage came in at the end with the following question: “What are you going to name it, Mr. Baxter?” “Eh? It? It ain’t an it, Mrs. Sage. It’s a masculine gender. We’re going to call him Oliver October. Sh! Isn’t that somebody on the porch, Joe? Doc Robinson, like as not. Go to the door, will you?” “It’s the wind,” said Mr. Sikes. Nevertheless he went over and looked out of the window. Another silence, broken at last by Mr. Baxter. “He’s got the finest head you ever saw,” said he, with a beatific expression on his face. “Got a head like a statesman.” “Oh, that is good news,” said the Reverend Sage, jovially. “We’re sadly in need of statesmen these days, Brother Baxter.” “Statesmen, your granny,” exploded Mr. Gooch, now thoroughly out of patience. “That’s the trouble with this country. It’s being run entirely by statesmen. That’s what I’ve been saying since March ’89. What we need is a good, sound business man in the White House. President Harrison is a fine lawyer, but if ever we needed a good Democrat back in the presidential chair it’s now. Get rid of the statesmen. That’s my motto. They’ve been—” Mrs. Gooch touched his arm and whispered in his ear: “You mean politicians, Horace—politicians, _not_ statesmen.” Mr. Gooch was flabbergasted. “Consarn it, I’m always getting those two words mixed,” he snarled. “But anyhow, this country made the blamedest fool mistake on earth when it turned Grover Cleveland out and put these blood-sucking Republicans back in power.” “You don’t say so!” exclaimed Mr. Link, witheringly. A heated political argument ensued, Mr. Gooch holding out against the Messrs. Link and Sikes, both of whom were what he finally succeeded in characterizing as “black Republicans.” He also charged them with waving the “bloody shirt,” and in return heard his party classified as “out and out copperheads.” Through it all, the anxious parent of Oliver October sat staring at the bright red isinglass in the stove door, oblivious to the storm of words that raged about him. Mrs. Sage, seated close beside him, finally reached out and took one of his hands in hers and squeezed it sympathetically. “Don’t you worry,” she said gently. He looked up, and a slow smile settled upon his homely features. “You ought to see his feet,” he murmured. “Little bits of things about that long. Cutest feet you ever saw.” “I’ll bet they are,” said she warmly, and he was happier than he had been in hours. CHAPTER III