“Well,” sighed Breed, “it will give me a chance to be around the State House during the session, and I'll take it. Then if I don't like it I can resign after the legislature adjourns.”
The Big Ones understood his frame of mind and overlooked his ingratitude.
“And so I'll bid you good day, gents,” he said, and straddled out with his hands under his coat-tails.
“So we've got him side-tracked and out of mischief,” averred the governor. “That takes care of all of 'em, and I'm relieved. It isn't stylish any more to come to town with a lot of old hounds trotting under the tail of the political cart.”
But before the end of that week the governor was obliged to call Uncle Dan to a private conference in the Executive Chamber.
“You must remember that you're a state officer,” warned his Excellency. “You're a part of the administration. But you are out talking politics all the time. I want you to stay in your department. Just remember that you're curator of our museum.”
“I don't like that blamed job,” complained Breed. “I don't care what my title is, it only means that I have to dust off that old stuffed loon, keep moths out of that loosivee, and fleas or some kind of insecks off'n that bull moose. It ain't no job for a politician. And there's a steady stream through there asking me all kinds of questions about animals. I don't know nothing about animals. I don't know whether a live moose eats hay or chopped liver. Those questions keep me all hestered up. It puts me in a wrong position before the public. I can't tell 'em which or what, and they think I'm losing my mind.”
“Post up! It will keep you busy. Get books out of the library and read. Inform yourself and have a story for the folks!”
A few days later the chairman of the state committee had an indignant report to make to the governor regarding Uncle Dan's natural-history activities.
“He has turned that museum into a circus show, your Excellency. He has named every one of those stuffed animals for somebody in politics he doesn't like, and leads a snickering mob of sight-seers around the room and lectures. When a state officer names a saucer-eyed Canadian lynx for me and then folks come up from that basement and grin at me, it's time a halt was called.”