Shelby restrained the delight he said he felt and returned to his papers under her relentless scrutiny.
"Telegraphs of congratulashun, I s'pose," the visitor presently observed.
"Yes; my friends are rejoicing with me."
"Everybody tickled?"
"All but the common enemy, I trust."
"I ain't hed a chance to go about much and ask," said the widow, with a preliminary sniff; "but I've met some as wa'n't tickled or enemies neither."
"No? Well, after all, this isn't paradise, but New York politics."
"At Tompkins's—I alluz go to him for my Oolong—I heard that Doc Crandall won't vote for you after your dead set at the place. He's one of your party, isn't he?"
"Yes. The doctor is one of us. Good fellow, too."
"And at Brady's, where I get my corn meal, I heard somebody say you've got the Irish down on you."