Washington was dazed by this most unexpected demonstration.
“Why, Colonel, there’s nothing to it. That little narrow, desolate, unpeopled, oblong streak of grass and gravel, lost in the remote wastes of the vast continent—why, it’s like representing a billiard table—a discarded one.”
“Tut-tut, it’s a great, it’s a staving preferment, and just opulent with influence here.”
“Shucks, Colonel, I haven’t even a vote.”
“That’s nothing; you can make speeches.”
“No, I can’t. The population’s only two hundred—”
“That’s all right, that’s all right—”
“And they hadn’t any right to elect me; we’re not even a territory, there’s no Organic Act, the government hasn’t any official knowledge of us whatever.”
“Never mind about that; I’ll fix that. I’ll rush the thing through, I’ll get you organized in no time.”
“Will you, Colonel?—it’s too good of you; but it’s just your old sterling self, the same old ever-faithful friend,” and the grateful tears welled up in Washington’s eyes.