“Is she going to marry that old man?” asked Cynthia.
Jethro smiled a little. “G-guess not,” said he, “g-guess not, if the old man can help it. Nobody's married him yet, and hain't likely to.”
Jethro was unusually silent on the way back to the hotel, but he did not seem to be worried or displeased. He only broke his silence once, in fact, when Cynthia called his attention to a large poster of some bloodhounds on a fence, announcing the fact in red letters that “Uncle Tom's Cabin” would be given by a certain travelling company at the Opera House the next evening.
“L-like to go, Cynthy?”
“Oh, Uncle Jethro, do you think we can go?”
“Never b'en to a show—hev you—never b'en to a show?”
“Never in my life,” said Cynthia.
“We'll all go,” said Jethro, and he repeated it once or twice as they came to Main Street, seemingly greatly tickled at the prospect. And there was the Truro Franchise Bill hanging over him, with only a week left of the session, and Lovejoy's and Duncan's men sitting so tight in their seats! William Wetherell could not understand it.