The Washington herald., 1913-08-17
CHAPTER Ix-Continued.

sary"
The farmer folk guffawed. Jewett
rubbed his stomach. Judge Want Hart.
his fine face obiiviors to all this, went
on his way. And Wiley, feeling some
how, that he had lost an opening
round in his inability to retort to the
boss, crossed the Square to his office.
He was furious with himself. He had
planned to keep the announcement OF
his campaign until he could see some
OF the men who would be with him
Purcell and Mcbride, of Earlville !;
Jake Vance and Arne, and some of the
scattered malcontents in other counties
of the district. But here the boss had
made fool of him before his own
people at the very start! He was saw
age with the realization that Janet
Vance's window in the county building
was open; that in all likelihood she
had heard Old Thad's jest and the
laughter. No. he had not done we'll.
And his old discomfort with himself
came over him; the pitiless feeling that
he did not measure up to the rough
game men played in business and poll
tics. He was too much of sentiment
talist, that was it.
He was kicking away on his job
press when Heminger, the recalcitrant
board member, came in. Heminger was
from lonely backwoods district up
the river, whose people. from poor
roads and isolation, rarely came to
town. He paid a back subscription,
and had a rambling budget of news
from his home folk. And, as always,
the editor listened sympathetically, and
with thoughts far away, answered at
times.
There was whaling corn crop. and
IT was mostly out of the way of frost.
And the late pasture was drying up,
and some folks were going to ship
their hogs. Some folks would, but
DANCED if he would! Some of his land.
where it ran up in the bluff, hadn't
done much, and he was going to turn
in his hogs and let 'em take the yield.
Dinged if he knew what was the mat
ter with that land!
Wiley listened. Then he took
handful of pamphlets from his desk.
Ever seen these, Burt? Government
reports? Maybe your land is too souri,"
Hemminger was incredulous. Book
farming wasn't much!
I'll tell you what I'll do" said Wi
ley, suddenly. Next time Arne Vance
comes back from the agricultural
school, iii get him to drive up there
and he can analyze your SOIL"
Hemminger's pale eyes shone.
Would you. nowe You're a busy
man, Mr.. Curran-runnin' fur Con-
gress and allr'
Il want TO see you all"
~. l. Il.
Nobody comes up our way much. Up
our way the wimmen still boil soap
we amt much on newfangled ways up
on Broad Bottoms. But if Jake
Nance's boyd come-we-we'd all meet
somewheres and have coffee-and you
could talk to US, too Mr.. Curranr'
Wiley watched him with a sudden
awakening hope. DO your folks like
me up there. Burt? Way out in the
bottom districts:'
You come up our way. It's right
lonesome country. But we know you,
Mr.. Curran. You remember the time
you got Abe Smiths boy out O. jail?"
Mr.. Curran's mind went vaguely
back five years.
Our folks talk about that yit! Abe's
boy hadn't done much but git too much
on board. Any you got him out and
sent him home!'
Hemminger was stuffing the govern
ment crop reports in his pocket. IF
you'd come. Mr.. Curran, folks would
be proud. The News, they say up our
way its never scared and it's never
bought. And Abe Smiths boy-well
you come upF'
He went out, and when the editor
saw his farm wagon rumble over the
crossing his face was lit with a fine
glow. Wiley wondered what he had
said or done to bring Hemminger out
of his despond-he had come in beaten
and Inundated from the supervisors
meeting-the lone board insurgent
against the Tanner dominance over the
rich farmers of the southern part of
the county. Curran saw him away off,
when he went up the path to the cot
tage where Aunt Abby's lamp shone-
a lonely figure seated in rude wagon
that crawled up a gap of the bluff to
the north between the somber harsh
ness of the corn helds-a blur, fainter
drawing into the dusk, lost in the i'm
mensity of the dun earth, the autumn
sky.
An hour later Curran was chopping
his kindling by the fence. A drop of
cold rain came out of the scud of
cloud. Another-the vast bend of the
uplands was lost in a gray veil. and
he could hear the patteT of drops on
the tar-paper roof of his shop. He
stood for a moment in the enrolling
night, listening to this lulling murmur,
the great dried lands sucking in the
water and enriching themselves. The
scar pastures would green, the black
corn bottoms and the fall sowing of
the wheat would lave themselves and
rest until the freeze came. And slowly
il seemed to Curran that never had
he loved it all before. The fat Mid
lands, the never-hungered country
Here were the best men and women.
Afar in the glut of the cities of which
le had dreamed, of which he remem-
bered, the future might be hideous
with wrong and hate; but here were
the best people, unhungered, unfear-
ing.
He was carrying in the wood for
Aunt Abby's kitchen box. thinking
how friendly would be the stove glow
after this wet chill. how fine his eager
ness for supper; the kerosene lamp
under its red shade upon the table,
and the hale, CHEEKY old woman. her |
glasses dim with the kettle steam |
But he heard wagon stop, a mans |
sruff voice on the crossing below his |
shop. He watched curiously the figure |
como up the hill and lean over his