A dollar-sixty a day ain't no livin' pay for a hard-workin' man, and that's all we git outside commissions on the fines the jedge imposes, and the deputty sheruff gits the biggest whack at them. We have to be pacified with what comes outer the little end o' the horn. Yistidday my share was thutty-two cents, and so fur to-day we ain't nabbed only one motor-cycle feller who come through by accident, havin' got off the road to Damascus. I'm gittin' discouraged."
Constable Small made a final poke at the pipe bowl, and glanced down at the complaining individual. "Never knowed you to tackle any job that you didn't git discouraged over in a short time, Silas," he averred contemptuously. "Gittin' discouraged is your long suit. You've been discouraged all your life."
Buzzell moved his slouching shoulders resentfully. "Mebbe that's so, 'Miah, but I ain't never had no luck, like some folks. When I was swore in as constable and put on this job, there was an av'rage of eighteen or twenty merchines a day that went through town regardless of speed regerlations. Business was lively, and I sorter guessed my luck had turned. But now them there automobile fellers has got wise and sent out warnin's and posted notices in all the garrages round about cautionin' folks to keep away from Greenbush, and they're goin' round by the way of Damascus or Cherryfield, and leavin' us to twiddle our thumbs. My opinion, it's hurt the town, too; Greenbush is deader'n a salted herrin'."
Small lifted a broganed foot and struck a match on the leg of his trousers, after which he held it up until his wheezing pipe was lit.
"Better not go makin' that kind of talk in the hearin' of Jedge Wiggin," he warned, pulling hard at the rebellious corncob. "If you done so, he'd tell you what in a hurry, and you'd lose your badge so quick it'd make your head swim. You know him, Silas. He ain't got no use for automobiles nohow, and when he announced that he perposed to enforce the speed regerlations without fear or favor, he sartainly meant it. He'd slap a fine onter the President of the United States if he was to go scootin' through town faster'n the speed limit allows."
"Mebbe he would," said Buzzell. "He's so hard-headed and sot it would be just like him. Jest because he's alwus been a hoss owner and a hossman, he's down on automobiles in gen'ral and ev'rybody that has anything to do with 'em. I reckon that's why he wants to be representative to the iegislatoor, he wants to go there to put through some kind of a bill to restrict the use of them merchines to certain roads so that the drivers of hosses can have the other roads to themselves. That's jest how old-fashioned the jedge is."
"Lemme tell you somethin', Silas," said Constable Small, taking his pipe from between his teeth and striking an impressive attitude with it. "They better let him go. If the jedge don't git the nomination from this deestrict, he'll upset their apple cart as sure as preachin'. There'll be three candidates in the primaries, and the party don't want Rufe Crockett, for he's a windbag, a turncoat, and a flopper, and he'd be beat at the polls, just as he was four year ago on the ticket of t'other party. But if Jedge Wiggin can't win, I'll bet you a twenty-cent plug of War Hoss he turns his strength ag'inst Ephraim Glover, of Palmyra, and throws the nomination to Crockett. This deestrict is the keystone, and if the party loses it, they'll most likely lose the whole county. I understand the governor himself is ruther fretted over the situation, with the primaries comin' on next week."
"I don't keer much about politics nohow," declared Buzzell, wiping his eyes again. "One party's bad as t'other,
