hither and thither of messengers strongly suggestive of "Cash
47."

As my business was with the manager of this Great National Fancy Shop,
I managed to push by the sad-eyed, eager-faced crowd of men and women
in the anteroom, and entered the secretary's room, conscious of having
left behind me a great deal of envy and uncharitableness of spirit. As
I opened the door I heard a monotonous flow of Western speech which I
thought I recognized. There was no mistaking it. It was the voice of
the Gashwiler.

"The appointment of this man, Mr. Secretary, would be most acceptable
to the people in my deestrict. His family are wealthy and influential,
and it's just as well in the fall elections to have the supervisors and
county judge pledged to support the administration. Our delegates to
the State Central Committee are to a man"--but here, perceiving from
the wandering eye of Mr. Secretary that there was another man in the
room, he whispered the rest with a familiarity that must have required
all the politician in the official's breast to keep from resenting.

"You have some papers, I suppose?" asked the secretary, wearily.

Gashwiler was provided with a pocketful, and produced them. The
secretary threw them on the table among the other papers, where they
seemed instantly to lose their identity, and looked as if they were
ready to recommend anybody but the person they belonged to. Indeed, in
one corner the entire Massachusetts delegation, with the Supreme Bench
at their head, appeared to be earnestly advocating the manuring of Iowa
waste lands; and to the inexperienced eye, a noted female reformer had
apparently appended her signature to a request for a pension for wounds
received in battle.

"By the way," said the secretary, "I think I have a letter here from
somebody in your district asking an appointment, and referring to you?
Do you withdraw it?"

"If anybody has been presuming to speculate upon my patronage," said
the Hon. Mr. Gashwiler, with rising rage.

"I've got the letter somewhere here," said the secretary, looking
dazedly at his table. He made a feeble movement among the papers, and
then sank back hopelessly in his chair, and gazed out of the window as
if he thought and rather hoped it might have flown away. "It was from a
Mr. Globbs, or Gobbs, or Dobbs, of Remus," he said finally, after a
superhuman effort of memory.

"Oh, that's nothing--a foolish fellow who has been boring me for the
last month."