companion.

"I didn't mean to get goin' so," he said, "but sometimes I wish this
American government'd never been started."

"I often feel that way myself, Mr. Redbrook," said Austen.

"I knowed you did. I guess I can tell an honest man when I see one. It's
treason to say anything against this Northeastern louder than a whisper.
They want an electric railrud bad up in Greenacre, and when some of us
spoke for it and tried to get the committee to report it, those cheap
fellers from Newcastle started such a catcall we had to set down."

By this time they were at the Widow Peasley's, stamping the snow from off
their boots.

"How general is this sentiment?" Austen asked, after he had set down his
bag in the room he was to occupy.

"Why," said Mr. Redbrook, with conviction, "there's enough feel as I do
to turn that House upside down--if we only had a leader. If you was only
in there, Austen."

"I'm afraid I shouldn't be of much use," Austen answered. "They'd have
given me a back seat, too."

The Widow Peasley's was a frame and gabled house of Revolutionary days
with a little terrace in front of it and a retaining wall built up from
the sidewalk. Austen, on the steps, stood gazing across at a square
mansion with a wide cornice, half hidden by elms and maples and pines. It