at he did not know the meaning of the
word. He was merely puzzled, as a June-bug is puzzled when it bumps up
against a wire window-screen. He had pledged to him his own gardener,
Mrs. Pomfret's, the hired men of three of his neighbours, a few modest
souls who habitually took off their hats to him, and Mr. Ball, of the
village, who sold groceries to Wedderburn and was a general handy man
for the summer people. Mr. Ball was an agitator by temperament and a
promoter by preference. If you were a summer resident of importance and
needed anything from a sewing-machine to a Holstein heifer, Mr. Ball,
the grocer, would accommodate you. When Mrs. Pomfret's cook became
inebriate and refractory, Mr. Ball was sent for, and enticed her to the
station and on board of a train; when the Chillinghams' tank overflowed,
Mr. Ball found the proper valve and saved the house from being washed
away. And it was he who, after Mrs. Pomfret, took the keenest interest
in Mr. Crewe's campaign. At length came one day when Mr. Crewe pulled up
in front of the grocery store and called, as his custom was, loudly
for Mr. Ball. The fact that Mr. Ball was waiting on customers made no
difference, and presently that gentleman appeared, rubbing his hands
together.

"How do you do, Mr. Crewe?" he said, "automobile going all right?"

"What's the matter with these fellers?" said Mr. Crewe. "Haven't I done
enough for the town? Didn't I get 'em rural free delivery? Didn't I
subscribe to the meeting-house and library, and don't I pay more taxes
than anybody else?"

"Certain," assented Mr. Ball, eagerly, "certain you do." It did not
seem to occur to him that it was unfair to make him responsible for the
scurvy ingratitude of his townsmen. He stepped gingerly down into the
dust and climbed up on the tool box.

"Look out," said Mr. Crewe, "don't scratch the varnish. What is it?"

Mr. Ball shifted obediently to the rubber-covered step, and bent his
face to his patron's ear.

"It's railrud," he said.

"Railroad!" shouted Mr. Crewe, in a voice that made the grocer clutch
his arm in terror. "Don't pinch me like that. Railroad! This town ain't
within ten miles of the railroad."

"For the love of David," said Mr. Ball, "don't talk so loud, Mr. Crewe."

"What's the railroad got to do with it?" Mr. Crewe demanded.

Mr. Ball glanced around him, to make sure that no one was within
shouting distance.

"What's the railrud got to do with anything in this State?" inquir