“Why, hello, Gaskins, howdy do?” all smilin and nearly shakin the arm off Jobe. “Well, Gaskins, weve got em out,” says he, “got em out! Every office in that grand old buildin is now okepied by one of our own fellers. I tell you, Gaskins, its a day we may well feel proud of,” hittin Jobe a lick on the shoulder.
“Well,” says Jobe, “I cant see as it makes much difference to me. Taxes are jist as high and interest money as hard to raise as it was when the Dimicrats were in. I cant see where us tax-payers has anything to be proud of; we dont git any of the salaries.”
“Jobe and me counted up how much
we had.”
“Why, Gaskins, what do you mean?” says he. “Dont you feel proud that the people of our own party, the Republicans, has at last routed the Demmies from the county offices?”
“No, I cant say as I do,” says Jobe; “fact is, I cant see much difference to me between a good Dimicrat and a good Republican or between a bad Dimicrat and a bad Republican, so long as both are willin to let bad laws remain and good ones go unmade, provided they git to draw a salary. Where is the difference?” says Jobe, with force.
“Gaskins!” says he, steppin back and lookin at Jobe from head to foot. “Gaskins, is it possible you are succumbin to pettycoat argament?” (lookin sideways at me).
I was teched.
I jist up and says, says I:
“Mister Canderdate, it would be a Lord’s blessin if him and more of his likes would listen to pettycoat argament instid of the argament of you office-seekin canderdates.” Says I: “Come on, Jobe,” takin hold of his arm and startin.