Mr. Duncan, understanding perhaps something of the storekeeper's embarrassment, proceeded to take down his treasures: first editions from the shelves, and folios and mistrals from drawers in a great iron safe in one corner and laid them on the mahogany desk. It was the railroad president's hobby, and could he find an appreciative guest, he was happy. It need scarcely be said that he found William Wetherell appreciative, and possessed of knowledge of Shaksperiana and other matters that astonished his host as well as pleased him. For Wetherell had found his tongue at last.
After a while Mr. Duncan drew out his watch and gave a start.
“By George!” he exclaimed, “it's after eight o'clock. I'll have to ask you to excuse me to-night, Mr. Wetherell. I'd like to show you the rest of them—can't you come around to-morrow afternoon?”
Mr. Wetherell, who had forgotten his own engagement and “Uncle Tom's Cabin,” said he would be happy to come. And they went out together and began to walk toward the State House.
“It isn't often I find a man who knows anything at all about these things,” continued Mr. Duncan, whose heart was quite won. “Why do you bury yourself in Coniston?”
“I went there from Briton for my health,” said the storekeeper.
“Jethro Bass lives there, doesn't he” said Mr. Duncan, with a laugh. “But I suppose you don't know anything about politics.”
“I know nothing at all,” said Mr. Wetherell, which was quite true. He had been in dreamland, but now the fact struck him again, with something of a shock, that this mild-mannered gentleman was one of those who had been paying certain legislators to remain in their seats. Wetherell thought of speaking to Mr. Duncan of his friendship with Jethro Bass, but the occasion passed.
“I wish to heaven I didn't have to know anything about politics,” Mr. Duncan was saying; “they disgust me. There's a little matter on now, about an extension of the Truro Railroad to Harwich, which wouldn't interest you, but you can't conceive what a nuisance it has been to watch that House day and night, as I've had to. It's no joke to have that townsman of yours; Jethro Bass, opposed to you. I won't say anything against him, for he many be a friend of yours, and I have to use him sometimes myself.” Mr. Duncan sighed. “It's all very sordid and annoying. Now this evening, for instance, when we might have enjoyed ourselves with those books, I've' got to go to the House, just because some backwoods farmers want to talk about woodchucks. I suppose it's foolish,” said Mr. Duncan; “but Bass has tricked us so often that I've got into the habit of being watchful. I should have been here twenty minutes ago.”
By this time they had come to the entrance of the State House, and Wetherell followed Mr. Duncan in, to have a look at the woodchuck session himself. Several members hurried by and up the stairs, some of them in their Sunday black; and the lobby above seemed, even to the storekeeper's unpractised eye, a trifle active for a woodchuck session. Mr. Duncan muttered something, and quickened his gait a little on the steps that led to the gallery. This place was almost empty. They went down to the rail, and the railroad president cast his eye over the House.