“Is it free?”
The President waved off that question, and the boy kep' on.
“Is it true what you have been talkin' about,—is there a great big ring put all round it, and is it bein' drawed along into a mean place?”
And then the boy's eyes grew black with excitement; and he kep' right on without waitin' for breath, or for a answer,—
“He had heard it talked about, was it right to let anybody do wrong for money? Did the United States do it? Did it make mean things right? If it did, he wanted to get one of Tom Gowdy's white rats. He wouldn't sell it, and he wanted it. His mother wouldn't let him steal it; but if the United States could make it right for him to do wrong, he had got ten cents of his own, and he'd buy the right to get that white rat. And if Tom wanted to cry about it, let him. If the United States sold him the right to do it, he guessed he could do it, no matter how much whimperin' there was, and no matter who said it was wrong. He wanted the rat.”
But I see the President's eyes, which had looked kinder rested when he took him up, grew bigger and bigger with surprise and anxiety. I guess he thought he had got his day's work in front of him. And I told the boy we must go. And then I says to the President,—
“That I knew he was quite a traveller, and of course he wouldn't want to die without seein' Jonesville;” and says I, “Be sure to come to our house to supper when you come.” Says I, “I can't reccomend the huntin' so much; there haint nothin' more excitin' to shoot than red squirrels and chipmunks: but there is quite good fishin' in the creek back of our house; they ketched 4 horned Asa's there last week, and lots of chubs.”