“Yes,” answered the Senator; “I think it will. And I confess I shall not advance any objections.”
Meeting big Tom on the avenue, Ezra Stamps stopped him.
“Tom,” he wheezed, hoarsely, “I heern tell you was likely ter git yer claim through.”
“There are times when you can hear that about almost any claim,” answered Tom. “What I’m waiting for is to hear that I’ve got it through.”
Stamps gnawed his finger-nails restlessly.
“Ye’re lucky,” he said; “ye allus was lucky.”
“How about the herds?” said Tom.
Stamps gave him an agonised look.
“Hev ye ever said anything agen me, Tom—to any man with inflooence? Hev ye, now? ’Twouldn’t be neighbourly of ye if ye hed—an’ we both come from the Cross-roads—an’ I allus give ye my custom. Ye won’t never go agen me, will ye, Tom?”
“I’ve never been asked any questions about you,” Tom said. “Look here, you had better go to some hospital and ask to be taken in. What are you walking about the street for in that fix? You can scarcely breathe.”