“Come to dinner with me,” said young Tom, “and tell me whether the speech of your friend from Leith will send him to Congress. I saw you hobnobbing with him just now. What's the matter, Austen? I haven't seen that guilty expression on your face since we were at college together.”
“What's the best livery-stable in town?” Austen asked.
“By George, I wondered why you came down here. Who are you going to take out in a sleigh? There's a girl in it, is there?”
“Not yet, Tom,” said Austen.
“I've often asked myself why I ever had any use for such a secretive cuss as you,” declared young Mr. Gaylord. “But if you're really goin' to get interested in girls, you ought to see old Flint's daughter. I wrote you about her. Why,” exclaimed Tom, “wasn't she one of those that got into Crewe's sleigh?”
“Tom,” said Austen, “where did you say that livery-stable was?”
“Oh, dang the livery-stable!” answered Mr. Gaylord. “I hear there's quite a sentiment for you for governor. How about it? You know I've always said you could be United States senator and President. If you'll only say the word, Austen, we'll work up a movement around the State that'll be hard to beat.”
“Tom,” said Austen, laying his hand on young Mr. Gaylord's farther shoulder, “you're a pretty good fellow. Where did you say that livery-stable was?
“I'll go sleigh-riding with you,” said Mr. Gaylord. “I guess the Pingsquit bill can rest one afternoon.”
“Tom, I don't know any man I'd rather take than you,” said Austen.