Interest gleamed in Jim’s eyes at last.
“What’s that?” he said.
“Folks sort of, after a manner, made up their minds they couldn’t git along without me.”
“You beat them?”
“To be sure. And I hadn’t no more chance ’n you’ve got. I was as beat as you be, if not beater, wasn’t I? Which p’ints out the fact you never can tell who’s licked till the constable stops the fight—and sometimes not then. Goin’ to git on your hat, Jim?”
“Judge Frame,” said Jim, “you’re a great man! if you say to keep up the struggle, why”—he put on his hat and stood up—“why, let’s get to that meeting.”
“Hain’t no time to lose. Got to git there swift, so I fetched Tiffany. You’re goin’ to ride behind a hoss now, young feller.”
Jim did not smile.
Zaanan was not joking, but speaking with firm faith in his ancient steed. What Tiffany had been in his youth Tiffany still was to the old judge. The horse had not changed in his eyes. They had grown old together, but Zaanan’s love for the creature, his admiration for qualities long vanished, were steadfast as ever.
“Lemme tell you some facts,” said Zaanan. “There’s times when facts is better ammunition ’n bullets. Moran’s consid’able spraddled out financially. He’s made every dollar that belongs to him git to work and do more ’n any dollar ought to do. He’s a reacher. Been a-reachin’ out and a-reachin’ out till it looks like his arm must ’a’ got stretched. Owns stock in the railroad—not a majority, but consid’able. Gits control by proxies. Then along come this Diversity Hardwood Company, and he must git his hands on to it. He’s got some money, but ’tain’t enough. So he puts up his railroad stock for collateral and buys a block of Diversity Company. Then he talks the stockholders into thinkin’ he’s consid’able big punkin. Two fellers in Grand Rapids that owns control up and makes him president and general manager of the outfit—and takes over his notes and collateral for him. They’re a-carryin’ him, ’cause they figgered he was a man could make money for ’em. Got that all down, eh?”