Gibbs was still at Topeka in the matter of the county seat which he had not been able to adjust, since Grant City had a rival that dared to claim this honour for itself, though no one seriously regarded its claim—certainly no one in Grant City, where the town-site speculators ridiculed the idea when it was advanced in their hearing, and Gibbs, in the Epoch, wrote sarcastic editorials that were much admired, and that proved as clearly as pen and ink can prove anything, the county seat must come to Grant City.
But one night after Stephen had gone home to his sick wife, he heard a loud knock at his door, and on going down to answer this summons, found Gibbs, whom he had supposed to be still in Topeka, standing on the threshold.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
GIBBS, his battered face red and perspiring, tramped the length of the room without speech; then he turned and tramped back again.
“When did you get to town?” asked Stephen, putting down the lamp he carried. He knew that Gibbs had not come on the afternoon stage for he had been in the crowd at the hotel when it arrived.
“Oh, I missed the stage, and got a man to drive me across,” said the general, pausing and moodily mopping his face. “Well, what they did to us up at Topeka ain't a little. We don't get the county seat! I don't know who gets it, but we won't—you can everlastingly make up your mind to that!”
“Is there nothing you can do?”
“Do!” cried the general in a tone of infinite disgust. “I didn't have a chance to do!”