“Yes, Mr. Wetherell, twenty thousand dollars.” He sighed. “Time was when a man could be governor for ten. Those were the good old days—eh, Jethro?”
“A-Alvy, 'Uncle Tom's Cabin's' comin' to town tomorrow—to-morrow.”
“You don't tell me,” said the Honorable Alva, acquiescing cheerfully in the change of subject. “We'll go. Pleased to have you, too, Mr. Wetherell.”
“Alvy,” said Jethro, again, “'Uncle Tom's Cabin' comes to town to-morrow.”
Mr. Hopkins stopped fanning himself, and glanced at Jethro questioningly.
“A-Alvy, that give you an idea?” said Jethro, mildly.
Mr. Wetherell looked blank: it gave him no idea whatsoever, except of little Eva and the bloodhounds. For a few moments the Honorable Alva appeared to be groping, too, and then his face began to crease into a smile of comprehension.
“By Godfrey, Jethro, but you are smart.” he exclaimed, with involuntary tribute; “you mean buy up the theatre?”
“C-callate you'll find it's bought up.”
“You mean pay for it?” said Mr. Hopkins.