folks lookin' for visitors."

"No," said Madison. "But there's a hotel in the town, isn't there?"

"Two of 'em," said the other. "The Waalderf an' the Congress, but the
Waalderf ain't done a sight of business since we got pro'bition in the
State an' has kinder got run down. I reckon the Congress'll suit you
best if you ain't against payin' a mite more, which I reckon you ain't
for I see you come down in the parler car."

"And what," asked Madison, "does the Congress charge?"

"Well," said the other, "ordinary, it's a dollar a day or five dollars a
week, but this bein' off season an' nobody there, 'twouldn't surprise me
if Walt'ud kind of shade the price for you--Waalderf's three an' a half
a week. Them your duds up the platform? I'll drive you over for forty
cents. What was it you said your name was?"

"Forty cents is a most disinterested offer, and I accept it heartily,"
said Madison affably. "And my name's Madison--John Garfield Madison,
from New York."

"Mine's Higgins," volunteered the other. "Hiram Higgins, an' I'm
postmaster an' town constable of Needley. An' now, Mr. Madison, I
reckon we'll just get these effects of your'n onto the wagon an' move
along--folks'll be gettin' kinder rambunctious for their mail."

Hiram Higgins backed the democrat around, roped the baggage onto the
tail-board, picked up the hungry-looking mail-bag from where the mail
clerk had slung it from the car to the platform, threw it down in front