“Well, Alf don't put none of it up, you can bet! That's the company's job.”
This from the Judge; and the School-commissioner added, “De coin in dese camps is beer.”
“Oh, I see!” laughed Hal. “The companies buy Alf's beer, and use it to get him votes!”
“Sure thing!” said the Post-master.
At this moment he happened to reach into his pocket for a cigar, and Hal observed a silver shield on the breast of his waistcoat. “That a deputy's badge?” he inquired, and then turned to examine the School-commissioner's costume. “Where's yours?”
“I git mine ven election comes,” said Jake, with a grin.
“And yours, Judge?”
“I'm a justice of the peace, young feller,” said Silas, with dignity.
Leaning round, and observing a bulge on the right hip of the School-commissioner, Hal put out his hand towards it. Instinctively the other moved his hand to the spot.
Hal turned to the Post-master. “Yours?” he asked.