“Such a statement concerning my darter is slanderous, considering the fuss she made over him,” said Judge Wiggin in deep resentment. “But I don’t s’pose it’s anything more than could be expected of an ordinary shuffer.” Again the governor laughed in a peculiar way. “Perhaps not,” he admitted, turning back to the judge. “I’d like to convince you, however, that my argument about automobiles was right, and, as long as you prevented me from catching my train after I had spent three hours persuading Ephraim Glover, of Palmyra, to withdraw and not contest you in the primaries, I think it is up to you to give me the chance.” First Nathan Wiggin looked astonished, and then slowly his face turned red. “Was that whut brought you inter these parts?” he asked. “That was the principal business. Glover was so hard to handle that I was delayed until it was only possible for me to get back by train in time for an important meeting to-night.” Judge Wiggin’s embarrassment was painful. “Governor,” he said, “circumstances alter cases. I’m ruther sorry circumstances interfered with that important app’intment of yours. But whinin’ never stopped a blister from smarting, and it’s too late to dodge after you’ve been jabbed by the business end of a hornet. Although I’ve said I’d never set foot in one of them gas-wagon contraptions, considering who’s invited me, if you’ll agree to proceed circumspect and decorous within the town limits, and promise to land me back here safe and sound, I’m going to take you up.” “Done,” accepted Governor Bradley. “Come along, judge.” Back to Turner’s grocery, where the bigger part of the curious crowds still hovered around the touring car, they went, the governor walking arm in arm with Nathan Wiggin, greatly to the wonderment of the staring throng. “I want you to sit on the forward seat so that you can watch the driver operate the car, judge,” said the governor, opening one of the forward doors. “Get in!” The incredulous and bewildered spectators gasped when the judge complied without a murmur to this invitation. Lem Dodd had said that Bessie Wiggin had gone crazy, and now it seemed that Bessie’s father was ready for a padded cell. “Wull, what d’ye think o’ that?” mumbled old Abner Nutter, poking his thumb into the ribs of Joshua Philbrook. “The jedge—goin’ bubble ridin’ arter he’s swore a hundred times that there wasn’t money enough in the United States treasury to hire him to set in one o’ them berjiggered things. I’ve heerd him say it with my own two ears.” “They’ve hippynotized him,” was Philbrook’s opinion. “Nothin’ else explains it. He ain’t in his right mind.” “Perhaps you’d better let Hitchens drive, George,” said the governor, addressing the injured young man. “I declare, you’re pale! Sure you’re not badly hurt?” “Somehow walking makes me dizzy,” was the answer. “Still, I’m feeling better. I think I’ll step into this store and get a drink of water.”