chances
to heave trigs into the spokes of these hallelujah chariots they're
rolling to political glory in!"

The mighty ones exchanged glances--deprecating glances--apprehensive
glances.

"You don't think I'm dangerous, do you, after I've been in politics as
long as I have?"

"No, but we feel that the old war-horses are entitled to run to pasture
with their shoes off," coaxed the chairman.

"It seems to me more like tying me up to a stanchion in a stall. I
ain't ungrateful, gents. I know this younger element doesn't believe
in setting hens in politics any more. It's the incubator
nowadays--wholesale job of it. But, by dadder! my settings have always
cracked the shells, twelve to the dozen! Then you don't want me, eh?"

"That job in the state land-office--we thought it would just about fit
you," suggested the chairman.

"I'd just as soon be sent to state prison--solitary confinement. The
state hasn't got any land any more. It has all been peddled out to the
grabbers. I've messed and mingled with men all my life. Nobody ever
comes into the land-office. You ain't afraid of me to that extent, be
you?"

"What do you want?" asked the governor.

"Settled, is it, you don't want me in politics?"

"There isn't anything for you to do," declared his Excellency, and he
showed a little impatience, though his smile did not fade.

"Well, then make me state liberian," said old Dan, with an air of
resignation.

There was deep and horrified silence.

"I'm developing literary instinks," explained Breed. "I've got a son who
owns a printing-office, and my granddaughter can take down anything in
shorthand and write it off. I'm going to write a book. She'll take it
down and he'll print it."

"I can't appoint you state librarian," said the governor, getting
control of his emotions. "It's already tied up, that appointment. Keep
it under your hat, but I have selected Reverend Doctor Fletcher, of
Cornish, and have notified him."

"Giving a plum like that to a parson who never controlled but one vote,
and that's his own--and then voted the way the deacon told him to?
I reckon it's about as you say--there are new times in politics. All
right! I'll go and climb a sumach-bush. You needn't bother about any job
for me, gents. I'll settle down to my literary work."

"What is the book?" asked the chairman.

"I have your word for it that the old days in politics have all gone
by," said Breed. "All the old things dead and buried! Very