uls of codfish
and potato which, between phrases, Mr. Peaslee conveyed to his
mouth. It was plain to see that he was greatly pleased with his new
dignity.

"What do they give ye for it?" asked his wife. Solomon should accept
no office which did not bring profit.

"Two dollars a day and mileage," said Mr. Peaslee, with the emphasis
of one who knows he will make a sensation.

"Mileage? What's that?"

"Travelin' expenses. State allows ye so much a mile. I get eight
cents for goin' to the courthouse."

"Ye get eight cents every day?" asked his wife, her eyes snapping.
She was vague about the duties of a grand juror; maybe he had to
earn his two dollars; but she had exact ideas about the trouble of
walking "up-street." To get eight cents for that was being paid for
doing nothing at all, and she was much astonished at the idea.

"Likely now, ain't it?" said Mr. Peaslee, with masculine scorn.
"State don't waste money that way! Mileage's to get ye there an'
take ye home again when term's over. You're s'posed to stay round
'tween whiles."

"Humph!" said his wife, disappointed. "They give ye two dollars a
day"--she hazarded the shot--"just for settin' round and talkin',
don't they? Walkin's considerable more of an effort for most folks."

"'Settin' round an' talkin'!'" exclaimed Mr. Peaslee, so indignantly
that he stopped eating for a moment, knife and fork upright in his
rigid, scandalized hands, while he gazed at his thin, energetic,
shrewish little wife. "'Settin' round and talkin'!' It's mighty
important work, now I tell ye. I guess there wouldn't be much law
and order if it wa'n't for the grand jury. They don't take none but
men o' jedgment. Takes gumption, I tell ye. Ye have to pay money to
get that kind."

"Well," said his wife, with the air of one who concedes an
unimportant point, "anyhow, it's good pay for a man whose time ain't
worth anythin'."

"Ain't worth anythin'!" exclaimed Mr. Peaslee, in hurt tones. "Now,
Sarepty, ye know better'n that. I don't know how they'll get along
without me up to the bank. They've got a pretty good idee o' my
jedgment 'bout mortgages. They don't pass any without my say so."

Mrs. Peaslee sniffed. "I've seen ye in the bank window, settin'
round with Jim Bartlett and Si Spooner and the rest of 'em. Readin'
the paper--that's all _I_ ever see ye doin'. Must be wearin' on ye."

"Guess ye never heard what was said, did ye? Can't hear 'em
thinkin', I guess. They're mighty shreu