William Wetherell was a little taken aback at this ingenuous statement of the gentleman from Gosport. He looked out of the window through the foliage of the park, and his eye was caught by the monument there in front of the State House, and he thought of the inscription on the base of it, "The People's Government." The Honorable Alva had not mentioned the people—undoubtedly.
"Yes, Mr. Wetherell, twenty thousand dollars." He sighed. "Time was when a man could be governor for ten. Those were the good old days—eh, Jethro?"
"A-Alvy, 'Uncle Tom's Cabin's' comin' to town tomorrow—to-morrow."
"You don't tell me," said the Honorable Alva, acquiescing cheerfully in the change of subject. "We'll go. Pleased to have you, too, Mr. Wetherell."
"Alvy," said Jethro, again, "'Uncle Tom's Cabin' comes to town to-morrow."
Mr. Hopkins stopped fanning himself, and glanced at Jethro questioningly.
"A-Alvy, that give you an idea?" said Jethro, mildly.
Mr. Wetherell looked blank: it gave him no idea whatsoever, except of little Eva and the bloodhounds. For a few moments the Honorable Alva appeared to be groping, too, and then his face began to crease into a smile of comprehension.
"By Godfrey, Jethro, but you are smart." he exclaimed, with involuntary tribute; "you mean buy up the theatre?"
"C-callate you'll find it's bought up."