Part 22 (2/2)

”Would it be safe for my pardner to come to Was.h.i.+ngton? Would it be safe for Josiah, safe for the nation?” Says I, in deeper, mournfuler tones,-

”Would you-would you dast to let him come?”

He said, sort o' dreamily, ”that those views and aspirations of Josiah's wasn't really needed at Was.h.i.+ngton, they had plenty of them there; and”-

But I says, ”I must have a plainer answer to ease my mind and heart. Do tell me plain,-would you dast?”

He looked full at me. He has got good, honest-looking eyes, and a sensible, candid look onto him. He liked me,-I knew he did from his looks,-a calm, Methodist-Episcopal likin',-nothin' light.

And I see in them eyes that he didn't like Josiah's political idees. I see that he was afraid, as afraid as death of that plan; and I see that he considered Was.h.i.+ngton a dangerous, dangerous place for grangers and Josiah Allens to be a roamin' round in. I could see that he dreaded the sufferin's for me and for the nation if the Hon. Josiah Allen was elected.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”WOULD YOU DAST?”]

But still, he seemed to hate to speak; and wise, cautious conservatism, and gentlemanly dignity, was wrote down on his linement. Even the red rosebud in his b.u.t.ton-hole looked dretful good-natured, but close-mouthed.

I don't know as he would have spoke at all agin, if I hadn't uttered once more them soul-harrowin' words, ”Would you dast?”

Pity and good feelin' then seemed to overpower for a moment the statesman and courteous diplomat.

And he said in gentle, gracious tones, ”If I tell you just what I think, I would not like to say it officially, but would say it in confidence, as from an Allen to an Allen.”

Says I, ”It sha'n't go no further.”

And so I would warn everybody that it must not be told.

Then says he, ”I will tell you. I wouldn't dast.”

Says I, ”That settles it. If human efforts can avail, Josiah Allen will not be United-States senator.” And says I, ”You have only confirmed my fears. I knew, feelin' as he felt, that it wuzn't safe for Josiah or the nation to have him come.”

Agin he reminded me that it was told to me in confidence, and agin I want to say that it must be kep'.

I thanked him for his kindness. He is a perfect gentleman; and he told me jest out of courtesy and politeness, and I know it. And I can be very polite too. And I am naturally one of the kindest-hearted of Jonesvillians.

So I says to him, ”I won't forget your kindness to me; and I want to say right here, that Josiah and me both think well on you-first-rate.”

Says he with a sort of a tired look, as if he wus a lookin' back over a hard road, ”I have honestly tried to do the best I could.”

Says I, ”I believe it.” And wantin' to encourage him still more, says I,-

”Josiah believes it, and Dorlesky Burpy, and lots of other Jonesvillians.” Says I, ”To set down in a chair that an angel has jest vacated, a high chair under the full glare of critical inspection, is a tegus place. I don't s'pose Garfield was really an angel, but his sufferin's and martyrdom placed him almost in that light before the world.

”And you have filled that chair, and filled it well. With dignity and courtesy and prudence. And we have been proud of you, Josiah and me both have.”

He brightened up: he had been afraid, I could see, that we wuzn't suited with him. And it took a load offen him. His linement looked clearer than it had, and brighter.

”And now,” says I, sithin' a little, ”I have got to do Dorlesky's errents.”

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