"I want to shake with you, Mr. Harlan!" He put out his hand, so frankly confident that he was doing the proper thing that the young man grasped it. "It was done to 'em good and proper. They tried to pull too hot a kittle out of the bean-hole that time—sure they did! I congratulate you! I knowed you'd get into politics some day."
Harlan pulled his hand away, and began to eat.
"Served up hot to 'em—that mess was," chuckled the cookee, on the easy terms of the familiar in the household. "Nothing like a rousin' fire if you're going to make the political pot bile in good shape."
He chuckled significantly.
The man pushed the food nearer, for Harlan did not seem to be taking much interest in his supper.
"I suppose you'll be boardin' at Mr. Presson's hotel when you get down to the legislature. I had a meal there once. They certainly do put it up fine. Say, Mr. Harlan, what do you say? Can't you use your pull, and get me a job as waiter or something down there for the session? Excuse me for gettin' at it so quick, but I thought I'd hop in ahead of the rush—they'll all be after you for something, now that you're nominated."
The young man could not discuss with this cheerful suppliant his indignant resolve not to be a legislator.
"You'll have to stay home here and look after Grandfather Thornton,
Bob," he hedged.
"Oh, thunder! He's goin' right down to spend the winter with you. Was tellin' Mr. Presson so when they et just now. Said you'd be needin' a steerin' committee of just his bigness!"
Harlan got up and kicked his chair from under him. It went over with a clatter. To his infinite relief he had suddenly recovered some of that wrathful determination that Ivus Niles's sneers had given him earlier in the evening.