ed to
be humble and helpful. Cap'n Sproul busied himself with a little pile
of smudgy account-books, each representing a road district of the
town. He was adding "snow-bills." Mr. Tate gazed forlornly on the
fiercely puckered brow and "plipping" lips, and heard the low growl
of profanity as the Cap'n missed count on a column and had to start
over again. Then Mr. Tate sighed and opened his portfolio. He sat
staring above it at the iron visage of the first selectman, who
finally grew restive under this espionage.

"Say, look-a-here, Pote Tate," he growled, levelling flaming eyes
across the table, "if you think you're goin' to set there lookin'
at me like a Chessy cat watchin' a rat-hole, you and me is goin' to
have trouble, and have it sudden and have it vi'lent!"

"I wanted to ask you a question--some advice!" gasped the secretary.

"Haven't I told you to pick out your business and 'tend to it?"
demanded the Cap'n, vibrating his lead-pencil.

"But this is about spending some money."

"Well, mebbe that's diff'runt." The selectman modified his tone. "Go
ahead and stick in your paw! What's this first grab for?" he asked,
resignedly.

"To make my letters official and regular," explained Mr. Tate, "I've
got to have stationery printed with the names of the committee on
it--you as chairman, per Consetena Tate, secretary."

"Go across to the printin'-office and have some struck off," directed
the selectman. "If havin' some paper to write on will get you busy
enough so't you won't set there starin' me out of countenance, it
will be a good investment."

For the next few days Mr. Tate was quite successful in keeping himself
out from under foot, so the Cap'n grudgingly admitted to Hiram. He
found a little stand in a corner of the big room and doubled himself
over it, writing letters with patient care. The first ones he
ventured to submit to the Cap'n before sealing them. But the chairman
of the committee contemptuously refused to read them or to sign.
Therefore Mr. Tate did that service for his superior, signing:
"Capt. Aaron Sproul, Chairman. Per Consetena Tate, Secretary." He
piled the letters, sealed, before the Cap'n, and the latter counted
them carefully and issued stamps with scrupulous exactness. Replies
came in printed return envelopes; but, though they bore his name,
Cap'n Sproul scornfully refused to touch one of them. The stern
attitude that he had assumed toward the Smyrna centennial
celebration was this: Tole