“No, Jobe,” says I, “it haint Populist argament; it is the argament of a plain, old-fashioned female woman—the one that thinks more of you than all the polerticians piled in one pile—and I hope you will think on it.”
“Well, Betsy,” says he, “if it haint Populist it seems to me that it is worth thinkin about.”
So, havin for one time held Jobe down to a finish and got him to thinkin, I unloosed the rope and straps, kissed him out loud on the cheek and let him up.
He riz up, stretched out his legs and arms, gapped a time or two and says:
“Betsy, Ime glad you tied me down.”
Then he went out to do up the evenin chores.
Now, if I could only keep Jobe away from them office-seekers and polerticians; if I could only keep him a thinkin, I would have some hopes; but as it is, no tellin how soon the good lesson of his wife may be overcome by a smooth-tongued canderdate.
CHAPTER XXXI.
JOBE BLOWS A FISH-HORN.
JOBE has been so busy tryin to git Mr. Bushnell, the millionair, elected governor, that he forgot about his interest bein due at the bank. He stayed to town the nite of the election till the chickens were crowin for daylite.