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.
It had been so generally recognized that Rankin was to have the appointment, that Grand Prairie had been denied its quadrennial sensation of a post-office fight, and the only feeling that the boys had been able to display was one of impatience to have Rankin, as a deserving and efficient party worker, displace the old postmaster the instant the new president was inaugurated. Garwood had explained time and again that the president was determined to permit all present office-holders to fill out their terms before appointing new ones, and he had strengthened his explanation by reminding them that the civil service rules were so strict that there was no prospect of dislodging the present incumbents of post-office places and putting new men in their stead.
Garwood of course sympathized with the boys; he didn’t believe in civil service reform himself; but preferred, he said, the good old Jacksonian doctrine of “to the victors belong the spoils,” but they must all see how powerless he was. Interest in the post-office situation accordingly had declined, and the subject was scarcely ever mentioned, except to illustrate, in curbstone arguments, the absurdities of civil service reform. But when the appointment was made public, and the boys realized that after all Rankin’s preëmption had not held valid, and that the field had been open all the time, they felt they had been the victims of a conspiracy, and had been cheated of one of the rights vested inalienably in the politician, if not in the people.