"Jim," his wife smiled proudly at him, "they say you're a hardened old politician, but you've got too soft a heart. Didn't I tell you that somethin' 'as up last summer when you got back from Pekin? Didn't I tell you somethin' 'as up when you told me Pusey had gone down to Washington? Didn't I tell you you'll better go or you'd get left?" "Well, now, Mollie," he began apologetically, "you know I didn't have the price in the first place, an' secon'ly, Jerry told me, _told_ me, with his own lips, right down there in that old office o' his'n, that it was--all--right, that I needn't worry, that he'd promised it, an' I'd get it. An' what 'uld I want to run down to Washin'ton botherin' him 'bout it any more fer? You know congressmen don't want the'r constits trailin' 'round after 'em down there." He leaned back in his chair and spread his hands wide, as if to exculpate himself entirely. "Well, you've been in politics long enough to know--" began his wife with a faint little sneer. "Oh, course," Rankin interrupted her, "if it 'ad been anybody else, I mightn't 'a' been so easy. I'd a camped on his trail till he done it, but Jerry--Jerry--I never thought it o' him." He shook his head sadly. "Now, Jim, just look here a minute," his wife returned. "You told me yourself that you noticed a change in him when he come home from Washington las' summer. Now, didn't you?" "Well, maybe there was a little, but that 'as all right. I expected that, I expected that as he growed bigger an' greater, an' got in 'ith all them heavy timbers down to Washin'ton he'd naturally grow away from us some. I knowed he couldn't al'ays have a big dub like me trailin' along, but I thought he'd al'ays be my friend. I thought he'd keep his word." His eyes widened as he lapsed into abstraction. But presently he roused himself with a mighty shake, and reached across the table with his coffee-cup in his hand. "Another cup, Mollie," he said, "I don't believe it," he insisted, setting his jaw, "I won't believe it. I'll go down town to-night an' find out about it." His wife shook her head with a little smile that told what an amiable hopelessness there was about him. "And when you find out it's true, what'll you do then?" she asked, as she gave him back his cup. "Well," he said, sucking in his mustache, "I'll live on here in Polk County, an' we'll continue to have three square meals _per_. But Jerry'll have some explanation, you'll see." "Yes, I don't doubt that," said Mrs. Rankin dryly. * * * * * The news of the illness of old Ethan Harkness--men had begun to call him old when he ceased to work--had been of interest to Grand Prairie, and the return of his daughter from Washington had added a zest to the interest, but it was all forgotten in the announcement that Pusey had been appointed postmaster.