I may be able to dispose of one and possibly two more post-offices between now and March 4th, but as they are small offices it is not likely that I will get more than $300 to $500 each for them, and as the friends of my successor are using every effort to postpone these appointments until after March 4th, you can see that I may even lose the profit on these appointments, since, as you are aware, all such revenue goes to my successor after that date.
The fact is, friend Gaskins, I have not been able to clear over $15,000 in the two years I have served as your Congressman, while some of the older members (those better known and more sought for by the liberal rich who come here to secure legislation favorable to their interests) make as high as a million a year.
With kind regards to Betsy, and hoping you will not put me to the necessity of foreclosing the mortgage I hold against you, I am
Yours truly,
D. M. J. Richer, M. C.
“That very sheet of paper.”
Now, jist to think, that letter, that very sheet of paper, come right from the great capital of these here United States; right from where all the great and leadin men of the country sit and make laws, and sell post-offices and sich—yes, this very sheet of paper has been writ on, handled and folded by a live and livin Congressman. The beautiful red tongue of a real Congressman licked that invelope, and his fingers sealed it up and put it in that great marble post-office there; then it traveled across them high mountains, over the big rivers and through the great cities to Jobe Gaskins, a common, everyday farmer, of Tuskaroras County, Ohio.
Congressman Richer.