Grasping at straws, she questioned him. “What sort of man is the Governor.”
“The kind that can git himself elected to office,” said her guide. “Allus worked at it. Had his snoot in the trough since his fust vote.”
“Is it difficult to see him?”
“Depends on who you are.”
“Supposing you’re just nobody.”
“If ye hain’t got nothin’ to give, ye hain’t got nothin’ to git nothin’ with.”
“You don’t seem to approve of him.”
“Him! Don’t think nothin’ about him. He’s jest the Governor. Be another next year, and then another and another. He’s all right as Governors go.”
“Can’t you tell me anything about him?” she asked, desperately.
“He’s dark complected and takes a spoonful of bakin’ sody after each meal,” said the guide. “There’s his office.... Said fifty cents, didn’t ye?”