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?" inquired Mr.
Ball, craftily.

"That's different," said Mr. Crewe, shortly, "I'm a corporation man
myself. They've got to defend 'emselves."

"Certain. I ain't got anything again' 'em," Mr. Ball agreed quickly. "I
guess they know what they're about. By the bye, Mr. Crewe," he added,
coming dangerously near the varnish again, and drawing back, "you hain't
happened to have seen Job Braden, have you?"

"Job Braden!" exclaimed Mr. Crewe, "Job Braden! What's all this mystery
about Job Braden? Somebody whispers that name in my ear every day. If you
mean that smooth-faced cuss that stutters and lives on Braden's Hill, I
called on him, but he was out. If you see him, tell him to come up to
Wedderburn, and I'll talk with him."

Mr. Ball made a gesture to indicate a feeling divided between respect for
Mr. Crewe and despair at the hardihood of such a proposition.

"Lord bless you, sir, Job wouldn't go."

"Wouldn't go?"

"He never pays visits,--folks go to him."

"He'd come to see me, wouldn't he?"

"I--I'm afraid riot, Mr. Crewe. Job holds his comb rather high."

"Do you mean to say this two-for-a-cent town has a boss?"

"Silas Grantley was born here," said Mr. Ball--for even the worm will
turn. "This town's got a noble history."

"I don't care anything about Silas Grantley. What I want to know is, how
this rascal manages to make anything out of the political pickings of a
town like Leith."

"Well, Job ain't exactly a rascal, Mr. Crewe. He's got a good many of
them hill farmers in a position of--of gratitude. Enough to control the
Republican caucus."

"Do you mean he buys their votes?" demanded Mr. Crewe.

"It's like this," e