“‘Looky’ heer, my man,’ said he; ‘yore face seems mighty familiar to me. Have I ever seed you before?’
“‘Not unless you remember me a-throwin’ up my hat in front o’ the stan’ an’ yellin’ when you wus stump-speakin’ in Murray jest ‘fore yore ‘lection,’ said I.
“Then he laughed kinder good-natured like, an’ said: ‘I’m sorry to see a voter o’ mine in a fix like yo’r ‘n. What can I do fer you?’
“‘I want to have a talk with you, yore Honor, an’ that bad,’ said I.
“‘I am at yore disposal,’ said he. ‘That’s what I’m heer fer. I ’ll ax the superintendent to call you in a moment. What is yore name?’
“‘Richard Wakeman, yore Honor,’ said I. “‘An’ one o’ the best men we ever had,’ said the superintendent.
“Well, they passed on, an’ in a few minutes I was ordered to come to the superintendent’s office, an’ thar I found the governor tilted back smokin’ a fine cigar.
“‘You wanted to have some ‘n’ to say to me, Wakeman?’ said he.
“I eased my ball an’ chain down on the skin of a big-eyed varmint o’ some sort, an’ stood up straight.
“‘I did, yore Honor, an’ that bad,’ said I.