“Wall, you'll see it after I get to Washington, D.C., most probable. I calculate to jest straighten out things there, and get public affairs in a good runnin' order. The nation needs me.”
“Wall,” says I, wore out, “it can have you, as fur as I am concerned.”
And I wus so completely fagged out, that I turned the subject completely round (as I s'posed) by askin' him if he laid out to sell our apples this year where he did last. The man's wife had wrote to me ahead, and wanted to know, for they had bought a new dryin'-machine, and wanted to make sure of apples ahead.
“Wall,” says Josiah, drawin' on his overshoes, “I shall probable have to use the apples this fall to buy votes with.”
“To buy votes?” says I, in accents of horrow.
“Yes. I wouldn't tell it out of the family. But you are all in the family, you know, and so I'll tell you. I sha'n't have to buy near so many votes on account of my plan; but I shall have to buy some, of course. You know, they all do; and I sha'n't stand no chance at all if I don't.”
My groans was fearful that I groaned at this; but truly, worse was to come. He looked kinder pitiful at me (he loves me). But yet his love did not soften the firm resolve that wus spread thick over his linement as he went on,—
“I lay out to get lots of votes with my green apples,” says he dreamily. “It seems as if I ought to get a vote for a bushel of apples; but there is so much iniquity and cheatin' a goin' on now in politics, that I may have to give a bushel and a half, or two bushels: and then, I shall make up a lot of the smaller ones into hard cider, and use 'em to—to advance the interests of myself and the nation in that way.
“There is hull loads of folks uncle Nate says he can bring to vote for me, by the judicious use of—wall, it hain't likely you will approve of it; but I say, stimulants are necessary in medicine, and any doctor will tell you so—hard cider and beer and whiskey, and so 4th.”