"Lovejoy!" ejaculated the storekeeper, thinking of what Mr. Merrill had
told him of the opponents of the Truro Franchise Bill. "President of the
'Northwestern' Railroad?"

Jethro gave his friend a shrewd look.

"G-gettin' posted--hain't you, Will?" he said.

"Is she going to marry that old man?" asked Cynthia.

Jethro smiled a little. "G-guess not," said he, "g-guess not, if the old
man can help it. Nobody's married him yet, and hain't likely to."

Jethro was unusually silent on the way back to the hotel, but he did
not seem to be worried or displeased. He only broke his silence once,
in fact, when Cynthia called his attention to a large poster of some
bloodhounds on a fence, announcing the fact in red letters that "Uncle
Tom's Cabin" would be given by a certain travelling company at the Opera
House the next evening.

"L-like to go, Cynthy?"

"Oh, Uncle Jethro, do you think we can go?"

"Never b'en to a show--hev you--never b'en to a show?"

"Never in my life," said Cynthia.

"We'll all go," said Jethro, and he repeated it once or twice as they
came to Main Street, seemingly greatly tickled at the prospect. And
there was the Truro Franchise Bill hanging over him, with only a week
left of the session, and Lovejoy's and Duncan's men sitting so tight in
their seats! William Wetherell could not understand it.

CHAPTER XIV

Half an hour later, when Mr. Wetherell knocked timidly at Number
7,--drawn thither by an irresistible curiosity,--the door was opened by
a portly person who wore a shining silk hat and ample gold watch chain.
The gentleman had, in fact, just arrived; but he seemed perfectly at
home as he laid down his hat on the marble-topped bureau, mopped his
face, took a glass of iced water at a gulp, chose a cigar, and sank
down gradually on the bed. Mr. Wetherell recognized him instantly as the
father of the celebrated Cassandra.

"Well, Jethro," said the gentleman, "I've got to come into the Throne
Room once a day anyhow, just to make sure you don't forget me--eh?"

"A-Alvy," said Jethro, "I want you to shake hands with a particular
friend of mine, Mr. Will Wetherell of Coniston. Er--Will, the Honorable
Alvy Hopkins of Gosport."

Mr. Hopkins rose from the bed as gradually as he had sunk down upon it,
and seized Mr. Wetherell's hand impressively. His own was very moist.

"Heard you was in town, Mr. Wetherell," he said heartily. "If Jethro
calls you a particular friend, it means something, I