JOBE BLOWS A FISH-HORN.
JOBE has been so busy tryin to git Mr. Bushnell, the millionair, elected
governor, that he forgot about his interest bein due at the bank. He
stayed to town the nite of the election till the chickens were crowin
for daylite.
It was nearly mornin when I heerd the patriotic sounds of the fish-horn.
I got up and looked out of the winder, and there was Jobe a comin up the
lane, with his breadbasket stuck out and his head throwed back, blowin
that fish-horn as though his life depended on it, and every now and then
he would stop, take off his hat and holler for Bushnell, jist as loud as
he could holler.
Well, he come in and acted the fool worse nor a drunk man, till he
nearly wore my patience out.
He said the gold basis bizness had succeeded and now one dollar was jist
as good as another, and asked me if I wasent ashamed that I was a
Dimicrat, and all sich fool questions.
Well, he got to bed at last and went to sleep, and in the mornin dident
want to git up; so I jist let him lay.
[Illustration: “IT WAS NEARLY MORNIN WHEN I HEERD THE PATRIOTIC SOUNDS
OF THE FISH-HORN.”]
About 9 o’clock a feller rid up to our gate and hitched, come to the
door and asked if this is where Mr. Gaskins lives. Says I:
“It is where Jobe Gaskins lives.”
He handed me a paper and told me to give it to Mr. Gaskins.
I took it in and waked Jobe up and got him his “specks.”
[Illustration: “He looked kind a pale.”]
He unfolded the paper and read it over to hisself. I saw he was worked
up. Says I:
“What is it, Jobe—an appintment from Bushnell?”
He looked kind a pale. Says he:
“No, Betsy, its a summons to court in the case of Vinting, the banker,
agin Gaskins; he has begun foreclosin proceedins agin us, Betsy.”
I looked at him a minit. He dident look up.
Says I: “The official returns are comin in quite airly, haint they?”
I then went back to the door, and the court officer was gone.
Poor Jobe got up in a little bit, lookin worried.
When he come out in the kitchen I handed him his fish-horn and says,
says I:
“Give us a tune, Jobe.”
He dident offer to toot a toot. He jist looked hurt.
Well, from that day to this he has been tryin to raise the money to pay
Vinting, the banker, his interest. After payin all them costs in the
Billot lawsuit there was very little left out of that wheat and hay
money, sich as it was.
He sold our cow, and nearly all our pertaters, and then sold old Tom,
our only hoss, and borrowed $5.50 from Widder Baker, when she got her
penshun money, and took that $63 down to Banker Vinting and handed it to
him at his bank. Vinting pushed it back to Jobe and says, says he:
“This is not accordin to contract. The contract, Mr. Gaskins, says you
must pay the interest in gold. I must have gold. _Gold_—Mr. Gaskins.”
Jobe told him he “had no gold, that this money was all good, legal
tender government money, and he would have to take it.”
Banker Vinting told him, “Gold or nothin.”
[Illustration: “‘Give us a tune, Jobe.’”]
Jobe went around to all the stores in town and to all his friends and
tried to git gold for the paper money, and not one of them had a dollar
in gold to help him out with. Everybody said they “hadent seen any gold
for a long time;” that “paper money was good enough for them; that they
was glad to git even it, these times.”
So Jobe come home, and he haint got that gold yit, and the Lord only
knows when and where he can git it. I dont.
Jobe he is nearly distracted.
Now, if the law makes Jobe take Billot’s paper money for wheat, I dont
see why the same law wont make the banker take the same paper money for
interest, especially when a feller cant git any other kind. If the
banker wont take Jobe’s paper money, all I know is for him to go on with
his lawsuit to foreclose us—until the court makes him take it.
We cant do anything else. It jist seems the world is full of trouble and
sich.
[Illustration: “‘This is not accordin to contract.’”]