He was performing the obligato of a prohibition hymn for the group of
farmers around him when he caught sight of Everett as he came across
the street. Instantly his voice was lowered to a honeyed
conversational pitch as he came to the edge of the porch and held out
a large, fat, white hand, into which Everett laid his own by courtesy
perforced.

"I'm delighted to see you, Mr. Everett, suh, delighted!" he boomed.
"And in such evident improved health. I inquired for you at Bolivar as
soon as I returned and I was informed that you had come over here to
find perfect restoration to health in the salubrious climate of this
wonderful town of Sweetbriar. I'm glad to see your looks confirm the
answer to my anxious inquiries. And is all well with you?"

"Thank you, Senator, I'm in pretty good shape again," answered Everett
with a counter smile. "Ten pounds on and I'm in fighting trim." The
words were said pleasantly, but for the life of him Everett could not
control the hostility of a quick glance that apparently struck
harmlessly against the veil of smiles.

"That there ten pounds had oughter be twenty, Senator, at the rate of
the Alloway feeding of him, from milk-house to cellar preserve shelf,"
said Mr. Crabtree from behind the counter where he was doing up a
pound of tea for the poet, who found it impossible to take his eyes
off the politician. "Miss Rose Mary ain't give me a glass of
buttermilk for more'n a week, and they do say she has to keep a loaf
handy in the milk-house to feed him 'fore he gets as far as Miss
Amandy and the kitchen. We're going to run him in a fattening race
with Mis' Rucker's fancy red hog she's gitting ready for the State