Zeb Meader, true to his nature, was self-contained throughout the congratulations he received, but his joy was nevertheless intense.
"You shook 'em up good, Austen," he said, making his way to where his counsel stood. "I suspicioned you'd do it. But how about this here appeal?"
"Billings is merely trying to save the face of his railroad," Austen answered, smiling. "He hasn't the least notion of allowing this case to come up again—take my word for it."
"I guess your word's good," said Zeb. "And I want to tell you one thing, as an old man. I've been talkin' to Putnam County folks some, and you hain't lost nothin' by this."
"How am I to get along without the friendship of Brush Bascom?" asked
Austen, soberly.
Mr. Meader, who had become used to this mild sort of humour, relaxed sufficiently to laugh.
"Brush did seem a mite disgruntled," he remarked.
Somewhat to Austen's embarrassment, Mr. Mender's friends were pushing forward. One grizzled veteran took him by the hand and looked thoughtfully into his face.
"I've lived a good many years," he said, "but I never heerd 'em talked up to like that. You're my candidate for governor."