around and I hadn't oughter hoped on such a light ration."

"When was it that the man came and prospected?" asked the Senator with
a quick gleam coming into his ugly little eyes and the smile veil took
on another layer of density, while his hand trembled slightly as he
lighted his cigar.

"Oh, about a week ago," answered Mr. Crabtree. "But I ain't got no
hopes now for Mr. Tucker and the folks from him. We'll all just have
to find some way to help them out when the bad time comes."

"The way will be provided, friend Crabtree," answered the Senator in
an oily tone of voice, but which held nevertheless a decided note of
excitement. "Do you know where I can find Mr. Alloway? I think I will
go have a business talk with him now." And in a few minutes the
Senator was striding as rapidly as his ponderosity would allow up
Providence Road, leaving the garrulous little storekeeper totally
unconscious of the fuse he had lighted for the firing of the mine so
long dreaded by his friends.

"Well now, Crabbie, don't bust out and cry into them dried apples jest
to swell the price, fer Mis' Rucker will ketch you sure when she comes
to buy 'em for to-morrow's turnovers," came in the long drawl of the
poet as he dawdled into the door and flung the rusty mail-sack down on
to the counter in front of Mr. Crabtree. "They ain't a thing in that
sack 'cept Miss Rose Mary's letter, and he must make a light kind of
love from the heft of it. I most let it drop offen the saddle as I
jogged along, only I'm a sensitive kind of cupid and the buckle of
the bag hit that place on my knee I got sleep-walking last week while
I was thinking up that verse that '_despair_' wouldn't rhyme with