[Fishing for compliments is sometimes dangerous.]
A well-known Congressman, who was a farmer before he went into politics,
was doing his district not long ago, and in his rambles he saw a man in a
stumpy patch of ground trying to get a plow through it. He went over to
him, and after a brief salutation he asked the privilege of making a turn
or two with the plow. The native shook his head doubtfully as he looked
at his visitor's store clothes and general air of gentleman of elegant
leisure, but he let him take the plow. The Congressman sailed away with
it in fine style, and plowed four or five furrows before the owner of the
field could recover his surprise. Then he pulled up and handed the handles
over to the original holder.
"By gravy, mister," said the farmer, admiringly, "air you in the
aggercultural business?"
"No," laughed the statesman.
"Y'ain't selling plows?"
"No."
"Then what in thunder air you?"
"I'm the member of Congress from this district."
"Air you the man I voted for and that I've been reading about in the papers
doin' legislatin' and sich in Washington?"
"Yes."
"Well, by hokey, mister," said the farmer, as he looked with admiration
over the recently-plowed furrows, "ef I'd a had any idea that I was votin'
fer a waste of sich good farmin' material I'd voted fer the other candidate
as shore as shootin'."