“I-I'll do all I can, but I won't guarantee it—w-won't guarantee it,” said Jethro.
“We don't ask you to guarantee it. If you'll do all you can, that's enough. You won't take a retainer?”
“W-won't take anything,” said Jethro.
“You mean to say you don't want anything for your for your time and your services if the bill is defeated?”
“T-that's about it, Ed. Little p-private matter with both of us. You don't want consolidation, and I don't. I hain't offered to give you a retainer—have I?”
“No,” said the astounded Mr. Balch. He scratched his head and fingered the leaves of his check-book. The captains over the tens and the captains over the hundreds would want little retainers—and who was to pay these? “How about the boys?” asked Mr. Balch.
“S-still got the same office in the depot—hain't you, Ed, s-same office?”
“Yes.”
“G-guess the boys hev b'en there before,” said Jethro.
Mr. Balch went away, meditating upon those sayings, and took the train for Boston. If he had waked up of a fine morning to find himself at the head of some benevolent and charitable organization, instead of the “Down East” Railroad, he could not have been more astonished than he had been at the unaccountable change of heart of Jethro Bass. He did not know what to make of it, and told his colleagues so; and at first they feared one of two things,—treachery or lunacy. But a little later a rumor reached Mr. Balch's ears that Jethro's hatred of Isaac D. Worthington was at the bottom of his reappearance in public life, although Jethro himself never mentioned Mr. Worthington's name. Jethro sat in the Throne Room, consulting, directing day after day, and when the Legislature assembled, “the boys” began to call at Mr. Balch's office. But Mr. Balch never again broached the subject of money to Jethro Bass.