Here Jeff Peters ceased, and I inferred that his story was done.
"Then you think"—I began.
"Yes," said Jeff. "Something like that. You let the farmers go ahead and amuse themselves with politics. Farming's a lonesome life; and they've been against the shell game before."
THE CHAIR OF PHILANTHROMATHEMATICS
"I see that the cause of Education has received the princely gift of more than fifty millions of dollars," said I.
I was gleaning the stray items from the evening papers while Jeff Peters packed his briar pipe with plug cut.
"Which same," said Jeff, "calls for a new deck, and a recitation by the entire class in philanthromathematics."
"Is that an allusion?" I asked.
"It is," said Jeff. "I never told you about the time when me and Andy Tucker was philanthropists, did I? It was eight years ago in Arizona. Andy and me was out in the Gila mountains with a two-horse wagon prospecting for silver. We struck it, and sold out to parties in Tucson for $25,000. They paid our check at the bank in silver—a thousand dollars in a sack. We loaded it in our wagon and drove east a hundred miles before we recovered our presence of intellect. Twenty-five thousand dollars doesn't sound like so much when you're reading the annual report of the Pennsylvania Railroad or listening to an actor talking about his salary; but when you can raise up a wagon sheet and kick around your bootheel and hear every one of 'em ring against another it makes you feel like you was a night-and-day bank with the clock striking twelve.