THE DIVISION OF THE PARTY BECOMES MORE DISTINCT--ADMIRABLE
ADDRESS OF ELIPHALET FOX AT THIS JUNCTURE--RESULT OF THE
ELECTION--REJOICINGS OF THE TRUE GRITS--JESSE FERRET'S
DIFFICULTIES--IS TAKEN TO TASK BY HIS DAME--CANDID AVOWAL
OF HIS EMBARRASSMENTS--THEODORE FOG'S EXPOSITION OF TRUE
GRIT PRINCIPLES--HIS GOOD-NATURED ENCOURAGEMENT OF JESSE
FERRET--DABBS'S TREAT.
The proceedings at the Sycamore Spring furnished melancholy evidence of
the serious character of the split which had taken place in our ranks.
This was a source of anxious and painful reflection to the New Lights.
But the assiduity with which we endeavored to heal this dissension only
made matters worse. The Whole Team, which, although not within the
county, claimed to take a deep interest in this election, on the score
of being within our congressional district, noticed our divisions with
much self-gratulation, and made the best of them, by attacking Agamemnon
Flag as "the creature" (to use its own unscrupulous language) of the
Hon. Middleton Flam; while, at the same time, it opened the flood-gates
of its abuse upon Theodore Fog, as a man of "bad habits, loose manners,
and objectionable morals." The Bickerbray Scrutinizer was devoted to
Flag and the regular ticket, and therefore defended Agamemnon against
The Whole Team, and let fly several arrows against Theodore Fog; thus
unhappily fomenting the differences among our friends.
The course pursued by Eliphalet Fox, at this difficult juncture, was one
calculated to raise him in the esteem of every true Quod, and to place
him on a pinnacle among editors. He took none of those middle grounds
which scarcely ever fail to bring a politician into contempt with both
parties--but, with a boldness entirely peculiar to himself, and in the
highest degree illustrative of the New-Light theory, stoutly advocated
each of our candidates, as the course of the canvass seemed to encourage
their respective chances of success. Thus, when Theodore Fog first
announced himself as the independent candidate, and when every one
appeared to regard this step as an act of presumption which could not
but result in defeat, Eliphalet put forth the following paragraph:--
"_Mister_ Theodore Fog, of this Borough, an old practitioner at
_more than one bar_, having waked up one morning with the idea that
he was born to fill the measure of his country's glory, as well as
he fills that of his own every night, has conceived the sublime
project of running on an independent ticket, in the approaching
election. We would whisper in our friend The.'s ear, that he has
barked up the wrong tree. Independence is not a word to be found in
the New-Light dictionary. The voters of this county can never be
seduced from the support of the regular nomination; especially when
it is headed by such a man as Agamemnon Flag, whose eloquence,
accomplishments, and remarkable Democratic simplicity of manners,
as well as his perfect surrender of himself to the cause of his
Party, give him the highest claim to the consideration of every
right-minded and unadulterated Quod. Verb. sap. sat."
Now, after the meeting of the Sycamore Spring, a new view of matters
broke upon Eliphalet's vision. He was certainly taken by surprise at the
demonstration which that meeting afforded of Theodore's strength with
the voters; and in the account of that event, which appeared in The
Whole Hog on the succeeding Saturday, one scarcely knows whether most to
commend the sincerity of the writer, or the justness of the tribute paid
to the masterly effort of Mr. Fog. Speaking of that effort, the editor
employs this language:--
"In regard to our esteemed fellow-townsman, Theodore Fog,
the public expectation was more than realized. This unstudied
orator, with all the freshness impressed upon his mind by
the mint of nature herself, contemning the aid of tinsel
show, and presenting himself in the homely habiliments of
an unvarnished, and, as our adversaries scoffingly add,
of an unwashed New Light, poured forth a resistless flood
of native oratory, remarkable for that massive vigor of
thought, and that felicity of expression, which are the
rare endowments only of genius, trained _among_ the people,
and whose soul is _with_ the people. He descanted upon the
brilliant career of our never-sufficiently-to-be-flattered
administration, with an effect that thrilled in the pulse,
glowed in the countenance, and broke forth in the
reiterated shouts of every warm-hearted, straight-out,
lead-following, unagainst-the-wishes-or-commands-of-the
luminaries-of-the-party-rebelling New-Light Democrat on the
ground. We are happy to add our decided conviction that the
election of this staunch champion of the _real_ New Lights is
placed beyond a doubt."
The intrepidity of this paragraph will strike every one who reflects
that the canvass, at the time this appeared, was far from being brought
to a close; and that the result, whatever Eliphalet might have thought
of it, was deemed exceedingly doubtful. Indeed, we had subsequently a
proof given to us, in The Whole Hog itself, that very serious opinions
began to prevail against the possibility of Mr. Fog's carrying the day,
in opposition to Flag.
The New-Light Club, with some few and unimportant exceptions, had
determined, as they thought themselves in duty bound, to sustain the
regular ticket, and for this purpose, when matters were running
very strong for Fog, and when, indeed, they began to entertain a
well-grounded fear that Andy Grant might slip in by the aid of these
divisions, resolved upon having a night procession in the Borough. This
expedient we have always resorted to with the happiest effects whenever
we have found the hopes of the New Lights beginning to ebb; it serves to
animate our friends, by throwing, as it were, a glare over their minds,
and to render them more docile to the word of command from those who
take upon themselves the labor of judging for the multitude. We now had
recourse to this device with a very flattering, though as it turned out
in the end, a deceptive manifestation of its influence upon the
election. The procession was made; paper lanterns in abundance, bearing
a variety of inscriptions of the most encouraging exhortation to the
friends of Flag and the Ticket, were procured for the occasion. Every
lantern and every banner had written upon it FLAM, in the hope thus to
identify the ticket with our distinguished representative in Congress,
and bring in the aid of his great name to our cause. Mottoes, having
reference to "the Old Hero of the Hermitage," were also profusely used,
and even the Hickory Tree was reared aloft in the procession, covered
with small cup lamps in imitation of its fruit. Every one in Quodlibet
supposed that this stroke of the procession settled the matter. It
undoubtedly converted the Borough and brought it into the utmost harmony
on our side. But the Tumbledownians, among whom Fog's great strength was
found, were not there; and from Bickerbray the delegation was not as
large as it ought to have been. Still, the evidence of popular support
to the ticket was deemed conclusive; so much so, that Eliphalet Fox's
next editorial referred to it as "indicative of the stern resolve of the
New Lights, once and forever, to crush the insubordinate and rebellious
temper with which certain factious and discontented pretenders to the
name of Democrats had endeavored to sow discord in the ranks of the
faithful, by setting up the absurd doctrine of independent opinion--a
doctrine so fatal to the New-Light Democracy wherever it has been
allowed. Agamemnon Flag," the editor proceeded to remark, "was not a man
to be put down by the frothy, ginger-pop eloquence engendered in the hot
atmosphere of cock-tail and julep manufactories. Mr. Fog may now
perceive that his secret perambulations to spread dissension in the
New-Light ranks, and his hypocritical boast of Independence will be
scowled upon by every honest eye and spurned by every honest tongue
which are to be found among the high-minded New-Light yeomanry of
Quodlibet, Bickerbray, Tumbledown, and the adjacent parts."
The election soon after this took place, when, greatly to the
astonishment of our club, and in fact of the whole party, the result was
announced to be as set forth in this table:--
_Quods._ _Whig._
Theodore Fog, 1191. Andrew Grant, 1039.
Abram Schoolcraft, 1084.
Curtius Short, 1063.
Agamemnon Flag, 758.
Thus it appeared that Theodore Fog far outran the rest of the ticket,
and that Agamemnon Flag fell considerably below the Whig vote.
Eliphalet Fox, greatly delighted at the triumph of this election, lost
no time in publishing a handbill announcing the issue. It was headed
"GLORIOUS VICTORY! QUODLIBET ERECT!"
and proceeded to descant on the event in this wise:--
"We have never for a moment permitted ourselves to doubt that our
estimable fellow-townsman Theodore Fog, one of the purest, most
disinterested and ablest Democrats of the glorious New-Light
Quodlibetarian School, would lead the polls; and, indeed, we took
occasion to insinuate as much after his celebrated speech at the
Sycamore Spring, which it was our good fortune to hear, and which,
as an exposition of sound New-Light principles, gave us such
unmixed delight. We cannot but feel regret that Mr. Flag's friends
should have so inconsiderately consented to place his name on the
ticket, before they had ascertained Mr. Fog's views in regard to
the election. An understanding upon this subject would have saved
them the mortification of presenting a name which, from the first,
we felt a presentiment was destined to incur defeat; and it would
have spared Mr. Flag the pain he must suffer in the present event.
The youth of this gentleman, his want of acquaintance with the
people, arising, doubtless, from the imperfection of his vision,
and his unfortunate espousal of the Iron Railing Compromise, very
obviously stood in the way of his success. A day will, however,
come around when, in our judgment, the people will do justice to
his pretension, which we undertake to say is considerable."
From these extracts, the reader is already prepared to exclaim with me,
Oh, excellent Eliphalet Fox--mirror of editors--pillar of the New-Light
faith! What exquisite address, what consummate skill hast thou not
evinced in these editorial effusions! Methinks I see Eliphalet, a
tide-waiter on events, watching the ebb and flow of popular opinion;
ever ready, at a moment's warning, to launch his little boat of
editorship on the biggest wave, and upon that wave to ride secure beyond
the breakers, out upon the glassy ocean of politics and then, after
taking an observation of the wind, to trim his sail with such nautical
forecast as shall make him sure to be borne along with the breeze toward
whatever haven it shall please the higher powers to direct him;
sagaciously counting in such haven to find the richest return on his
little stock of ventures. I see his meager, attenuated, diminutive
person, elevated on a footstool six inches above the floor, behind a
high but somewhat rickety desk, in the northwest corner of his
lumber-filled office, where scissor-clipped gazettes are strewed, elbow
deep, over an old walnut table, and where three dingy caricatures of
Harry Clay, Nic Biddle, and John C. Calhoun, are tacked against his
smoky walls; there I see him quiet, but at work, with pen in hand, ever
and anon darting his cat-like eye at the door, upon each new-comer who
comes to tell the news of the canvass. I hear his husky, dry, and
querulous voice, tisicky and quick, asking, how goes it in Bickerbray?
What from Tumbledown? and as he receives his answer _pro_ or _con._, Fog
or Flag, he turns to his half-scribbled sheet to remould his paragraph,
with the dexterity of an old and practiced Quod, in such phrase as shall
assuredly earn him the good-will of the winner. Rare Eliphalet!
Admirable Fox! Incomparable servant of an incomparable master!
It is with a sad and melancholy sincerity I record the fact, that this
election left behind it much heart-burning in Quodlibet. The New-Light
Democracy were now broken into three parts, the Mandarins, the
Middlings, and the True Grits; and Theodore Fog, in command of the True
Grits, had evidently got the upper hand. The defeat of Agamemnon Flag
was a severe blow to our distinguished representative, the Hon.
Middleton Flam, and no less galling to Nicodemus Handy; for these three
worthy gentlemen were undoubtedly at the head of the Mandarins, and
their overthrow on the present occasion led to unpleasant consequences
which I shall be called upon to notice hereafter.
The first unhappy fruit of this election was of a domestic nature, and
wrought very seriously against the peace of our friend Jesse Ferret.
For three days and nights after the publication of the polls, all
Quodlibet was alive with the rejoicings of the True Grits at the success
of Theodore Fog. The bar-room of The Hero was full all day with these
energetic friends of the prosperous candidate; and it is worthy of
remark that their number was vastly greater than was shown by the ballot
box, many more individuals claiming the honor of having voted for him
than the return of the polls would authorize us to believe; all night
long bonfires blazed, drums and fifes disturbed the repose of the
Borough, and processions, not remarkable for their decorum, marched from
house to house with Theodore mounted in a chair, borne on the shoulders
of sturdy True Grits. A hundred torches in the hands of thirty men and
seventy boys, flared on the signs and flickered on the walls of
Quodlibet, and fifty negroes, great and small, ragged and patched,
hatless and hatted, slip-shod and barefoot, leaped, danced, limped, and
hobbled in wide-spread concourse around black Isaac the Kent bugle
player, and yellow Josh the clarionet man, who struck in with the drum
and fife to the tune of Jim Crow, about the center of the column. Flan
Sucker was installed grand marshal of this procession, and was called
KING OF THE TRUE GRITS; while Ben Inky, Sim Travers, Jeff Drinker, and
More M'Nulty, served along the flanks as his lieutenants; the whole
array huzzaing at every corner, and stopping to refresh every time they
came into the neighborhood of Peter Ounce's, Jesse Ferret's, or the
smaller ordinaries which the rapid growth of Quodlibet had supplied in
various quarters to relieve the drought of its inhabitants.
This state of things, as I have said, continued for three days after
the election. At the end of that period, Jesse Ferret, somewhere about
noon, was in his bar casting up his accounts. He wore a serious,
disturbed countenance--not because his accounts showed a bad face; for
so far from that, the late jubilee had very considerably increased his
capital in trade, but because his rest had been broken--and Jesse never
could bear to lose his sleep. While he was engaged in summing up these
recent gains, his worthy spouse entered the bar and quietly seated
herself in a chair behind him. The expression of her face showed that
her thoughts were occupied with matter of interesting import: a slight
frown sat upon her brow, her lips were partially compressed, and her fat
arms made an attempt to cross each other on her bosom. The chair was too
small for her; and, from her peculiar configuration, one looking at her
in a full front view would not be likely to conjecture she was seated,
but rather that she was a short and dumpy woman, and leaned against some
prop for rest--the line from her chin to her toe being that of the face
of a pyramid. Her posture denoted an assumed patience. So quietly had
she entered the inclosure of the bar, that Jesse was altogether ignorant
of her presence, and therefore continued at his occupation. It was not
long, however, before his attention was awakened to the interesting fact
that his wife was behind him, by the salutation, conveyed in a rather
deep-toned voice, "Jesse Ferret, how long are you agoing to be poking
over them accounts?"
Jesse turned short round, in some surprise at the sound of these
well-known accents so near him, and, surveying the dame for an instant,
replied--
"Bless me, Polly! how came you here? You go about like one of them
church-yard vaporations that melts in thin air and frightens children in
the dead of night. What did you want with me, my love?"
"I want to know," said Mrs. Ferret, "who's master of this house--you or
me? Ef I'm the master, say so--but ef you're the master, then act as
sich. It ain't no longer to be endured, this shilly-shally, visy-versy
politicks of yourn. Here you are casting up of the accounts this blessed
day, and please Heaven, if there's one cent got into the till in the
three days that have gone by, the last person in the world to thank for
it is yourself, Jesse Ferret. Theodore Fog's _in_--got in by a vote that
one might say's almost magnanimous, and he's got all the thirstiest men
in this Borough under his thumb--and he's been pouring 'em in here in
shoals, which he wouldn't have done, one man of 'em, ef it hadn't a been
for my principles, which goes the whole hog--and you so contrairy,
constantly a giving out your no sides--it's raly abominable! and time
you should change, Jesse Ferret, it is."
"Why, my dear, don't you see the good of it?" said Mr. Ferret, in a
mild, good-natured tone of expostulation. "The very best thing we can do
is for you to go on as you are doing, and me to go on as I am. Here's
come up a great split in the party; and presently, as sure as you are
born, they'll be having their separate houses and making party questions
out of it: then, my dear, you know Theodore Fog and his people counts
you as a sort of sun-dial to their side, and goes almost by your
pinting. And then the others, you know, can't have nothing to find fault
against me upon account of my sentiments: so, in this way we shall get
the custom of the thorough-stitchers, the half-and-halfs, the
promiscuous, and of every kind of stripe that's going. Can't you see
into it, Mrs. Ferret?"
"No, I cannot see into it," replied the landlady. "In the first place,
them Mandarins, as The. Fog says, is not worth the looking after in our
line--they drink nothing but Champagne and Madeery, and ef they do
sometimes send down to our bar for ourn, they are sure to turn up their
noses at it, and say it's sour. Didn't Nicodemus Handy tell me to my
face that my Anchor Brand, which you've got on the top shelf, and
which cost you six dollars a basket at auction, was nothing but
turnip-juice?--and did you ever know Middleton Flam to call for as much
as a thimbleful of your liquors, with all his preachings and parleyings
in this house? No, you did not: and it's your duty to cast off your
bucket o' both sides, and go in for The. with the True Grits, as he
calls them; and true enough they are in the drinking line!--that, nobody
who knows them, will deny. I'm tired, Jesse Ferret, and fretted down to
the very bone, at being put upon in this here way, having to keep up the
politicks of this house, which I don't think you haint no right to do, I
don't. I'm been a talking to you about this tell I'm tired, and I wonder
you can be so obstinate, considering I take it so much to heart."
"Now, Polly," interposed our landlord with an affectionate
remonstrance, intended to soothe Mrs. Ferret's feelings, "many's the
struggle I've had on this here very topic with my own conscience; I may
say I have wrestled for it at the very bottom of my nature. But the case
is this, and I'll explain it to you once for all. I've got a sentiment
at the core of my heart, which is a secret in regard of these here
politicks. I wish to go right--you know I do--but if I only knowed what
sentiments _to_ take up:--there's the mystery. If I knowed _that_, I
should feel easy; but I never could keep any principles, upon account of
the changes. Before a plain, simple man can cleverly tell where he is,
everything has whisked away in the contrairy direction. One year we are
'all tariff,' and the next, 'down with it as an abomination.' Here we go
'for canals and railroads!'--a crack of the whip, and there we are all
t'other side. 'No electioneering of officers!' cries out the captain of
the squad. 'Turn that fellow out, he don't work for the party!' cries
the very same captain in the very next breath. 'Retrenchment and
reform!' says every big fellow there at Washington; and the same words
are bawled all the way down among us, even to Theodore Fog;--'Damn the
expense!' (the Lord forgive me for using such words,) says the very same
fellows in the same breath, 'stick on a million here and a million
there--the more the merrier!' And so we go. Here, t'other day, this here
Sub-Treasury was monarchy and revolution to boot, and treason outright;
and now, what it _is_, every man's afeard to say--some's for, some's
against--some's both, and all's in a state of amalgamation, perplexity,
and caterwauling unaccountable. What between specy circlars,
anti-masons, pocketing of bills, (Lord knows what that means!) vetoes,
distribution, fortifications, abolition, running down Indians, and
running up accounts, politics has got into a jumble that a Philadelphy
lawyer couldn't steer through them. A poor publican has a straining time
of it, Polly. He can't get right if he tries--and if he does blunder
upon it, he can't _stay_ right six months, let him do his best--morally
impossible! That's where it's a matter o' conscience with me; and my
conclusion is, in such a mucilaginous state of affairs, a man who wants
to accommodate the public must be either all sides or no sides; and,
therefore I say, my motto is, a publican should--leastways I speak in
regard to these times--have no sides. And there's the whole matter laid
out to you, Polly, my wife."
"All sides, any day, before No sides!" replied Mrs. Ferret. "As Susan
Barndollar says, stick to your colors and they'll carry you to sides a
plenty, I'll warrant you. Don't Theodore Fog tell us the Democracy's a
trying of experiments--and, Lord bless us! ef they haint carried you on
sides enough, then you _are_ an unreasonable man. Principle isn't
principle--it's following of your party:--you change when _it_ changes,
whereby you are always right. Now, these here True Grits is two to one
to the Mandarins and Middlings both, and they devour, yes, ten times as
much liquor. Ef you had an eye in your head, you'd come out a True
Grit--it's a naiteral tavern-keeper's politics."
"'Spose, my dear," said Jesse, waxing warm, "things takes a turn off
hand. 'Spose these True Grits are upset--as I shouldn't wonder they
would be, as soon as Middleton Flam comes home from Congress, and winds
up the people right again--as he has often done before--am I going to
run my head against a post by offending the whole New-Light Club, which
meets at our house, and make enemies by having sentiments of my own? You
don't know me, Polly Ferret."
"Well, and ef things does take a turn?" replied the wife, "is there
anythink new in that, in this Borough? Haint we had turns before?
Theodore Fog will turn with 'em--that's his principle--that's my
principle, and it ought, by rights, to be yourn. Doesn't the
schoolmaster tell you to stick to the upper side? Doesn't our member,
Middleton Flam, tell you the same thing, and Nicodemus Handy, and
Liphlet Fox? There's your own barkeeper, Nim Porter, that's asleep in
yander winder, who's got more sense than you have; he knows what side
his bread's buttered--and even your own child, Susan Barndollar, though
she stuck out for the nomination, isn't such a ninny as to have no
principles. We're Dimmycrats, and always counts with the majority; and
that's safe whichever way it goes; and, as I said before, no mortal man
can find out a better side than that for a tavern-keeper. But it's the
Whigs your're a courting, Jesse Ferret--the Whigs, neither more nor
less--and it's pitiful in you to be so sneaking."
"Polly, if you aint got no better language than that to use to me,"
exclaimed Ferret, under considerable excitement, "I'd advise you to hold
your tongue."
"My tongue's my own, Mr. Ferret," replied the landlady, "and I don't
want none of your advice what I'm to do with it. I have used it long
enough to know how to keep it a running, and how to stop it, without
being taught by you."
"I've got no right to listen to you, if I don't choose," retorted the
landlord. "Women has their milking and churning to look after, and, to
my thinking, they'd best attend to that, instead of skreiking out
politics in public bar-rooms--that's my opinion, Mrs. Ferret."
"Women, indeed!--for _you_ to talk about women!--You're the
laughing-stock of all the petticoats of our Borough," said the wife, in
a high key of exacerbation. "Mrs. Younghusband, and Mrs. Snuffers, and
Mrs. Doubleday makes you a continual banter, and it hurts my feelings as
the mother of your children, it does."
"Seize Mrs. Younghusband, and Mrs. Snuffers, and Mrs. Doubleday, all
three!" exclaimed Ferret in a sort of demi-oath.
"What's that you said, Mr. Ferret?"
"I said seize 'em! and I don't care the rinsings of that glass if you
tell 'em so,--a set of mandrakes."
"Oh, Jesse Ferret, Jesse Ferret,--as a man who sets up to be an
example, what are you coming to!" exclaimed the landlady, with uplifted
hands. "Ef your children could hear such profanity. I declare to
patience, you'd try the quarters of the meekest mother in the universe."
How far this conjugal outflash might have gone in its natural course, it
is impossible for me to say; although Nim Porter, who pretended to be
asleep all the time, and who heard every word of it, and related it with
much pleasantry to me, says he has often witnessed these breezes between
this worthy couple, and always found that they made up as soon as Mrs.
Ferret got out of breath--which, by-the-by, she being short-winded,
generally occurred in about half an hour from the first rising of her
anger; but, on the present occasion, it was happily interrupted by the
entrance of Theodore Fog, Dabbs, the foreman in Eliphalet Fox's
printing-office, Flan Sucker, More M'Nulty, and Sim Travers, who all
marched directly up to the bar. I had entered upon the heels of this
party, and having taken up "The Whole Hog" for my perusal, in one corner
of the room, was myself a witness to the scene that followed.
Nim Porter, who was seated in an elbow-chair, resting the back of his
head against a window-sill at the opposite end of the bar-room and
counterfeiting sleep, was now roused up to attend to the customers.
"My dear Mrs. Ferret--paragon of landladies," said Fog, "Pillar--yes,
bolster of our cause--some drink! Dabbs owes a treat, and we have
resolved that the libation shall be made under the eye of our own queen.
Dabbs, say what the mixture shall be; I'm not particular--my throat is a
turnpike traveled by all imaginable potations. A mint julep, Dabbs?
gentlemen! Flan, a julep? Yes? A julep, a julep all round. Agreed to,
nem. con. Mrs. Ferret, five juleps; charge Dabbs--Dabbs's treat."
Mrs. Ferret's anger against her spouse gradually faded under this
accost; a slight glimpse of sunshine began to break over her visage as
she addressed herself to the task of preparing the required compounds,
and Nim Porter busied himself in picking sprigs of mint from a large
bouquet of that invaluable plant, which flourished in native verdure
over the rim of a two quart tumbler, in which it seemed to grow as in a
flower-pot.
Ferret had retreated from the bar toward the door which looked upon the
street; and Theodore Fog, who, as the truth must be spoken, was at this
hour very considerably advanced toward his customary zenith of
excitement, thrust his hands under the skirts of his striped gingham
coatee, and strutted with the air of a prime minister in a farce, around
the room.
"Nim," said he,
"'Bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready,
She strike upon the bell.'
Ferret--glorious turn out, Ferret. True Grits all alive. Pound that ice
fine, Nim--no water, recollect. First-rate fellows, Ferret--go the
whole--real Quods--diamonds."
"Hope you'll mend matters now, Mr. Fog, since you've got in," said
Ferret. "I'm for giving every one a chance; wish you success."
"Of course you do, Ferret," replied Fog; "and so you would have wished
Ag Flag success if he'd got in."
"Or Andy Grant, either," said Mrs. Ferret; "my husband's not partikler."
"You're right, Ferret--you're right!" interrupted Fog, "always go with
the current--that's sound philosophy--that's my rule. Dabbs, isn't that
metaphysics? Flan, don't you call that the true theory of the balance of
power? Gentlemen, I submit it to you all."
"Real True-Grit doctrine," said Flan; "find out how the cat jumps--then
go ahead."
"Fundamental, that," said Dabbs; "principles change, measures vary,
names rise and fall, but majority is always majority."
"Bravo, Dabbs!" ejaculated Theodore Fog; "_Tempora mutantur et nos
mutamur cum illis_--that's our True-Grit motto. The nominative case
always agrees with the verb; the people are the verb, we're the
nominative case. That's logic, Mrs. Ferret. Nim, how have you made out
in these illustrious 'three days?'"
"Cursed sleepy," answered Nim Porter, who was now brewing the drink by
pouring it from one tumbler to another; "haven't had three hours rest in
the whole three nights. No right to complain though--won four bets--had
two to one against Andy Grant with Tompkinson--and even against Ag with
three of the New-Light Club. I knew d--d well how it was going, ever
since the meeting at the Sycamore Spring. Fog, you touched them fellows
that work on the Bickerbray and Meltpenny Road 'twixt wind and water."
"Didn't I?" exclaimed Fog; "I opine I did; unequivocally, I fancy I did.
I venture to add, with all possible energy of asseveration, that I did
that thing, Nim. That's what I call walking into the understanding of
the independent, electoral constituent body; and the best of it is, we
got them their votes, you dog!"
"You didn't lose no votes that I could bring you," said Mrs. Ferret,
"although you didn't get Jesse's. But that wa'n't much loss--for Jesse's
of little account anyhow, and hasn't the influence of a chicken in this
Borough--as no man hasn't, whose afeard of his shadow."
"Well, we don't want to hear no more about that," interrupted the
landlord. "Mr. Fog knows it wasn't ill will to him--but only my
principle, that publicans had best not take sides."
"And who has a right to object to that?" exclaimed Fog. "Give us your
hand, Jesse--I'd do the same thing myself, if I were in your place."
"Well, ef you aint the forgivingest creature, Mr. Fog!" said the
landlady.
"Mrs. Ferret, your health!--gentlemen, take your respective
glasses--Dabbs, your health--Jesse--Flan--all of you--Success to the
True Grits! Top off, boys."
They all drank.
Fog applied the tumbler to his lips; looked straight forward, with what
might be called a fixed stare upon vacancy, his eyes expressing the deep
emotion of sensual pleasure which the icy compound inspired as it slowly
flowed over his palate, and for a full minute employed himself without
pause in draining the contents of his glass--gradually and slowly
arching back his head until the last drop trickled from the bottom.
"Amazing seductive beverage, Mrs. Ferret!" he said as he smacked his
lips, and set the tumbler down upon the board. "Fascinating potation! If
I were not an example of consummate prudence, and the most circumspect
being not yet gathered within the pale of the Temperance Society, my
virtue would have fallen a victim before this to that enticing cordial,
Mrs. Ferret. But I'm proof--I have been sorely tried, and have come out
of the furnace, as you see me, superior to the temptations of this
wicked world. Dabbs, poney up--we must go to the raffle, which begins in
five minutes at Rhody M'Caw's stable--that pacing roan, Nim--you'll be
there, of course:--in your line. Come, gentlemen--don't wipe your mouths
with your sleeves--let the odor exhale. As some poet somewhere says,
speaking of a mint julep,
'Sweet vale of Ovoca, how calm could I rest,--
If there's a drink upon earth
It is this--it is this.'
Not the words exactly--but something in that run. Jesse, the Flower of
Quodlibet--Mrs. Ferret, Queen of the Spear Mint--good-by. Nim, you
rascal--after the raffle is over, expect to see me as dry as an oven."
When Fog had delivered himself of this rhapsody--which, no doubt, has
impressed the reader with the conviction that this noontide glass had
done its work upon the brain of our new representative in the
Legislature--the whole party made their exit; and Jesse Ferret, anxious
to avoid another conference with his dame, professing a wish to witness
the raffle, followed in their footsteps.