"I tell you, you did."
"I was going to talk about myself. I was going to say that I was not the man for sheriff. Before I had time to say it you jumped to your feet and stopped me."
"Then it was all a mistake, Sheriff. Let us shake hands and be friends."
"And why do you think that you are not the right man for sheriff?" asked old Grundy after the reconciliation.
"In the first place, I can't read much and can't write."
"Not at all necessary for your work as sheriff. A man in my position as justice of the peace should be profoundly educated. But for your work, Sheriff, what is wanted is a brave man and a sharp man."
"That's just the difficulty; I am not a sharp man—I am not."
"Why do you say that?"
Mr. Lane did not answer. He looked at the other passengers, not one of whom was apparently listening to the conversation. Evidently he had something to communicate to the Squire which he did not want known to his traveling companions, for he whispered to him a few words, after which the two men left their places and took seats on the top of the stage.
"Well, Squire," said Mr. Lane, who was the first to speak, "this is strange work for me. You see, Mr. Pense was sheriff of the county, and Mud was deputy. Mr. Pense died, Mr. Mud became sheriff, and I was made deputy. Then Mr. Mud died and I was made sheriff. It all happened in less than a month. I didn't want the office, but everybody wanted me to take it, and I said yes. The very next day I got some work to do, which has kept me busy for nearly four weeks, and I am just as far off the track to-day as when I started."