Bijah—as he will not hesitate to tell you—took Heth down in his pocket to the Legislature, and has more than once delivered him, in certain blocks of five and ten, and four and twenty, for certain considerations. The ancient Song of Sixpence applies to Bijah, but his pocket was generally full of proxies instead of rye, and the Honorable Heth was frequently one of the four and twenty blackbirds. In short, Bijah was the working bee, and the Honorable Heth the ornamental drone.
I do not know why I have dwelt so long on such a minor character as Bijah, except that the man fascinates me. Of all the lieutenants in the state, his manners bore the closest resemblance to those of Jethro Bass. When he walked behind Jethro in the corridors of the Pelican, kicking up his heels behind, he might have been taken for Jethro's shadow. He was of a good height and size, smooth-shaven, with little eyes that kindled, and his mouth moved not at all when he spoke: unlike Jethro, he “used” tobacco.
When Bijah had driven into Coniston village and hitched his wagon to the rail, he went direct to the store. Chester Perkins and others were watching him with various emotions from the stoop, and Bijah took a seat in the midst of them, characteristically engaging in conversation without the usual conventional forms of greeting, as if he had been there all day.
“H-how much did you git for your wool, Chester—h-how much?”
“Guess you hain't here to talk about wool, Bije,” said Chester, red with anger.
“Kind of neglectin' the farm lately, I hear,” observed Bijah.
“Jethro Bass sent you up to find out how much I was neglectin' it,” retorted Chester, throwing all caution to the winds.
“Thinkin' of upsettin' Jethro, be you? Thinkin' of upsettin' Jethro?” remarked Bije, in a genial tone.
“Folks in Clovelly hain't got nothin' to do with it, if I am,” said Chester.
“Leetle early for campaignin', Chester, leetle early.”