ever since Sam done him out of gettin' the postmaster's job.
Pretty mean trick, some folks call it, but--"

Mr. Winslow interrupted; his drawl was a trifle less evident.

"Congressman Taylor asked Sam for the truth regardin' Phineas and a
certain matter," he said. "Sam told the truth, that's all."

"Well, maybe that's so, but does tellin' the truth about folks make
'em love you? I don't know as it does."

Winslow appeared to meditate.

"No-o," he observed, thoughtfully, "I don't suppose you do."

"No, I . . . Eh? What do you mean by that? Look here, Jed
Winslow, if--"

Jed held up a big hand. "There, there, Gabe," he suggested,
mildly. "Let's hear about Sam and Phin Babbitt. What was Phineas
goin' on about when you was in his store?"

Mr. Bearse forgot personal grievance in his eagerness to tell the
story.

"Why," he began, "you see, 'twas like this: 'Twas all on account of
Leander. Leander's been drafted. You know that, of course?"

Jed nodded. Leander Babbitt was the son of Phineas Babbitt,
Orham's dealer in hardware and lumber and a leading political boss.