“Oh, he’s no drunker’n usual,” answered with candor a fellow-townsman. “The Judge ain’t really himself until he’s a little off. He didn’t blow so without some reason; don’t you fool yourself—not if I know the man.”
“Well, if he’s got any game he must have come to his last chance in it, to try bullying on me,” said Strong; and then another of the group asked:
“What row could there be about a teacher, Strong? Thought you’d given him his man.”
The pencil rolled from the edge of the table across the floor at Strong’s movement of attention. “Coakley?—what of him?”
The man began to laugh, and one or two others joined in. One of them said a little offensively: “Pretty good on you, youngster! You took too big a contract for your age when you undertook to keep up with Judge Garvey. He’ll give you odds and take you in, every time.”
Strong reddened a little, but waited to be answered with very fair composure.
“Didn’t you really know, Strong? The Judge scored one on you that time, then. Why, he’s been Garvey’s man in Sierra Township one or two elections now. Used to be a Millerite preacher, before your day, but he broke down at that. Good hand in county politics, but he’s always completely out of business between times. Why you remember him, Strong—he was round with the Judge election times—cross-eyed fellow, with black siders.”
“That fellow? Why, he can’t spell straight! The way of it was, Judge Garvey told us only Tuesday that the teacher we’d got—first-rate certificates—had backed out; and we couldn’t put off beginning school any longer, nor hear of any teacher to be had; so when he produced this man, we had really no choice. I suppose I needn’t ask where he got his certificates.”