The band was rioting through a jolly melange of popular melodies.
The old man hesitated a moment, and then walked across to the General.
"Vard, politics is most always a case of dog eat dog, but I want to
assure you that I'm not hungry just now if you are not! And my grandson
seems to have more political foresight than I gave him credit for. I'm
getting old, I see!"
He did not give them opportunity to answer. He swung about and went to
Spinney.
"I reckon they'll raise your guard, now, Arba," he said, nodding at the
stolid and plain men. "There isn't much more that you can do, either to
harm or help. You'd better pull a chair out to the edge of the stage
there, and listen to what a h--l of a fellow you are when your orators
nominate you. Then before the applause dies away, you'd better start for
home. It'll be a good time to get away while Presson is busy!" It was
plain that, lacking any other object, the Duke was venting the last of
his spleen on this wretched victim of the game. "Before you go, give me
one of those 'Honest Arba' ribbons.
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