"Now, look here! You remember Pod McClintock and
his epileptic fits? You know he fell into a barbed-wire fence in a fit,
and told around afterward how he had been to heaven, and the devil met
him on his way back and clawed him for spite? Well, now don't you go to
imitating Pod. There's more or less barbed wire in politics--any man
gets afoul of it. But don't lay it to the devil. That will be elevating
accidents onto too high a plane. If Vard Waymouth is the next Governor
of this State there'll be some wire fences that he won't be able to sit
on. There'll be too many barbs. We'll put top rails onto all the fences
we can. But you can't make any fence safe for those that are bound to
butt head-first into barbed wire. Waymouth isn't the kind to do any
butting. I'll tell you this, Harlan, and it's straight: if I help to
make Waymouth our next Governor, I'll help to make him a good
one--provided he needs any of my help in that line. Now go and attend
to your business."
There were few at the railroad station, and those few paid little heed
to General Waymouth when he stepped down from the train.
Pages:
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244