"I've got a coat of arms, Arba; I won the decoration when I retired from
hard work at the age of fifty. That was about the time you were starting
in life by selling fake mining stock around this State. My coat of arms
is two patches on a homespun background, surrounded by looped galluses.
And I can show you the mile of stone walls I built before you were
born."
Spinney did not relish the merriment which followed that sally.
"You've outgrown that coat of arms, then, in these days," he retorted.
"They all know you by a different stripe since you set the other chap at
work, Squire Thornton. And the pendulum of power is swinging the other
way! The people are behind _me_. You'd better get aboard." His style of
humor depended most on its effrontery. He held out one of his badges.
"Better put it on," he advised. "Get aboard with the rush! They're all
for 'Honest Arba.'"
The Duke stepped forward and presented his breast.
"Pin it on, Arba. When a man shifts his business and is introducing a
brand-new line of goods, different from what he ever carried before, he
needs all the advertising he can get.
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