“S-seen your gal—Alvy—seen your gal?”
Mr. Hopkins gave a glance at Wetherell.
“Will don't talk,” said Jethro, and resumed his inspection through the lace curtains of what was going on in the street.
“Cassandry's, got him to go,” said Mr. Hopkins. “It's all fixed, as sure as Sunday. If it misses fire, then I'll never mention the governorship again. But if it don't miss fire,” and the Honorable Alva leaned over and put his hand on Jethro's knee, “if it don't miss fire, I get the nomination. Is that right?”
“Y-you've guessed it, Alvy.”
“That's all I want to know,” declared the Honorable Alva; “when you say that much, you never go back on it. And, you can go ahead and give the orders, Jethro. I have to see that the boys get the tickets. Cassandry's got a head on her shoulders, and she kind of wants to be governor, too.” He got as far as the door, when he turned and bestowed upon Jethro a glance of undoubted tribute. “You've done a good many smart things,” said he, “but I guess you never beat this, and never will.”
“H-hain't done it yet, Alvy,” answered Jethro, still looking out through the window curtains at the ever ganging groups of gentlemen in the street. These groups had a never ceasing interest for Jethro Bass.
Mr. Wetherell didn't talk, but had he been the most incurable of gossips he felt that he could have done no damage to this mysterious affair, whatever it was. In a certain event, Mr. Hopkins was promised the governorship: so much was plain. And it was also evident that Miss Cassandra Hopkins was in some way to be instrumental. William Wetherell did not like to ask Jethro, but he thought a little of sounding Mr. Merrill, and then he came to the conclusion that it would be wiser for him not to know.
“Er—Will,” said Jethro, presently, “you know Heth Sutton—Speaker Heth Sutton?”
“Yes.”