There was a sound of wheels; the buckboard drew up at the gate, and Helen, returning from her evening's labor, jumped out lightly, and ran around to pat the horses' heads. “Thank you so much, Mr. Willetts,” she said to the driver. “I know you will handle the two delegates you are to look after as well as you do the judge's team; and you ought to, you know, because the delegates are men. You dears!” She stroked the sleek necks of the colts and handed them bunches of grass.
Briscoe came out, and let the friendly animals nose his shoulder as he looked gravely down on the piquant face beside him in the dusk. “Young lady,” he said, “go East. Wait till we get on to Washington, and sit in the gallery, and see John Harkless rise up in his place, and hear the Speaker say: 'The Gentleman from Indiana!' I know the chills would go up and down my spine, and I guess you'd feel pretty well paid for your day's work. I guess we all would.”
“Aren't you tired, Helen?” asked Minnie, coming to her in the darkness and clasping her waist.
“Tired? No; I'm happy. Did you ever see the stars so bright?”
CHAPTER XVIII. THE TREACHERY OF H. FISBEE
An Indiana town may lie asleep a long time, but there always comes a day when it wakes up; and Plattville had wakened in August when the “Herald” became a daily and Eph Watts struck oil. It was then that history began to be made. The “Herald” printed News, and the paper was sold every morning at stands in all the towns in that section of the State. Its circulation tripled. Parker talked of new presses; two men were added to his staff, and a reporter was brought from Rouen to join Mr. Fisbee. The “Herald” boomed the oil-field; people swarmed into town; the hotel was crowded; strangers became no sensation whatever. A capitalist bought the whole north side of the Square to erect new stores, and the Carlow Bank began the construction of a new bank building of Bedford stone on Main Street. Then it was whispered, next affirmed, that the “Herald” had succeeded in another of its enterprises, and Main Street was to be asphalted. That was the end of the “old days” of Plattville.
There was a man who had laid the foundation upon which the new Plattville was to be built; he who, through the quiet labor of years, had stamped his spirit upon the people, as their own was stamped upon him; but he lay sick in his friend's house and did not care. One day Meredith found him propped up in bed, reading a letter—reading it listlessly, and with a dull eye.
“PLATTVILLE, September 1st.
“Dear Mr. Harkless: Yours of the 30th received. Every one here is very glad to know that your health is so far improved as to admit of your writing; and it is our strongest hope that you will soon be completely recovered.