“Why, sakes alive, Jobe,” says I, “they haint made any law. That was jist a dream I had. What ails you, anyhow?”
At that he stepped back a step or two, lookin at me vicious like. Movin his head up and down in short jerks, says he:
“Betsy, you must stop it. Stop it at once. Its got you crazy—so crazy you are dreamin about it. You must stop that readin or Ile have you sent to a lunatic asylum.”
He went out at the door then, but just as he got out, in time for him to hear it, I hollered:
“Its you and your likes that ort to be sent to a lunatic asylum for not seein a thing that you have to turn your back on to keep from seein.”
This ended the second “discussion of the financial situation,” as they say down at Washington. The two old parties—Jobe and me—are still divided; but I have one promis he has yet to fulfill.
CHAPTER IV.
“THE COMERS.”
BILL BOWERS has got me into trouble. The Thursday arter I had my dream about the money bizness, who should ride up to our gate and hitch but Bill Bowers? I had not seen him for nigh onto two years, except in that dream, until he rid up to that gate post.
No sooner did I lay eyes on him than I thought of our meetin him that day in town, right there by Spring Brothers’ big store, and of his tellin us of the money plan, and of his goin with us to the county treasurer, and of us a learnin from the county treasurer that in a few days he would become the people’s banker and would lend money to the people on good security. While he was gittin off and hitchin, I remembered of his walkin with us up apast all the banks; I remembered of them refusin to lend us any money in the mornin; of them a peckin and a beckenin, a hollerin and a runnin arter us, wantin to lend us their money, in the evenin, arter we, and they too, had heerd of the new law Congress had made the day before—a law that turned a panic where we had to beg for money, and not git it, to a panic where they begged to lend us money and we wouldent borrow it.