The surnameless Pete, Colonel Woodruff’s hired man, halted Buddy at the door.
“Mr. Simms, I believe?” he said.
“I reckon you must be lookin’ for my brother, Raymond, suh,” said Buddy.
“I am a-lookin’,” said Pete impressively, “for Mr. McGeehee Simms.”
“That’s me,” said Buddy; “but I hain’t been doin’ nothin’ wrong, suh!”
“I have a message here,” said Pete, “for Professor James E. Irwin. He’s what-ho within, there, ain’t he?”
“He’s inside, I reckon,” said Buddy.
“Then will you be so kind and condescendin’ as to stoop so low as to jump so high as to give him this letter?” asked Pete.
Buddy took the letter and was considering of his reply to this remarkable speech, when Pete, gravely saluting, passed on, rather congratulating himself on having staged a very good burlesque of the dignified manners of those queer mountaineers, the Simmses.
“Please come to the meeting to-night,” ran the colonel’s note to Jim; “and when you come, come prepared to hold the district up. If we can’t meet the Pottawatomie County standard of wages, we ought to lose you. Everybody in the district will be there. Come late, so you won’t hear yourself talked about—I should recommend nine-thirty and war-paint.”