"But will it not take up too much of your time?"
"Why, no. You see, I can be elected as easily as falling off a log, and then, as sheriff, I can flood our paper with legal advertisements."
"Nolan, you are a remarkable man."
"You just wait."
I wrote editorials in his behalf, and even left my sanctum and made speeches for him. He was elected. He turned over his newspaper books to his son, and took charge of the sheriff's office. The boy sat in the office, and, during the forenoon, whistled a circus tune. In the afternoon he got drunk. A few days after Nolan was installed, I went over to get an armful of legal advertisements. There were none on hand just at that time, Nolan told me. "In fact," said he "it has been decided not to print the delinquent-tax list this year."
I was disappointed. The boy whistled his circus tune and then went out and got drunk. The next day, when I wanted to draw five dollars, the boy gave me thirty-five cents. Bills began to come in, and my deep thought was much disturbed by them. One morning Nolan came in, and, after whistling in imitation of his son, said:
"It's pretty tough."
"What is?"
"Why, as sheriff, I've got to take charge of this office. Paper bill."
I was staggered.