"Hain't never mixed any in politics—hev you n-never mixed any?"
Wetherell's heart sank.
"No," he answered.
"D-don't—take my advice—d-don't."
"What!" cried the storekeeper, so loudly that he frightened himself.
"D-don't," repeated Jethro, imperturbably.
There was a short silence, the storekeeper being unable to speak. Coniston Water, at the foot of the garden, sang the same song, but it seemed to Wetherell to have changed its note from sorrow to joy.
"H-hear things, don't you—hear things in the store?"
"Yes."
"Don't hear 'em. Keep out of politics, Will, s-stick to store-keepin' and—and literature."