“I!” said the Governor, “I am going to the southeast. Do you see that little railroad? I am even now about to commit myself to its irresponsible mercies.”
“You must not go, Al,” continued the Auditor. “Attend, I will nominate the reasons. First, there is a julep party at my palatial residence.”
“Insufficient,” said the Governor.
“Second, there is a strike at the Big Injin.”
“Insufficient,” said the Governor.
“And third,” continued the Auditor, lowering his voice, “Honorable Ambercrombie Hergan is at this very hour in the second room of Crawley's Emporium, playing the taxes of Bolas County, and losing them, sir, losing them.”
The Governor's face grew hard, and his remarks for a moment were quite unprintable. Then he turned to the Auditor.
“Ned,” he continued, “you must get him out, and take him up to my residence. I will be here by ten o'clock. I am compelled to go to El Paso. I can't get out of it. I am compelled to go.”
“Compelled?” ejaculated the Major, “who, in the name of all the living gods, is compelling you? He must be greater than the railroads, greater than the legislature, greater than the Federal Court. Compelling the Honorable Alfred Capland Randal? Shade of the blooming Witch of Endor!”
“Ned,” said the Governor slowly, “I will explain it all just as soon as I can. In the meantime you must help me. You must get him out. Won't you, Ned?”