Dowden, so abrupt and
artificial that his intention to check the flow of my innocent prattle
was embarrassingly obvious--even to me!
"Can you tell me," he said, leaning forward and following up the
interruption as hastily as possible, "what the farmers were getting for
their wheat when you left Spencerville?"
"Ninety-four cents," I answered, and felt my ears growing red with
mortification. Too late, I remembered that the new-comer in a community
should guard his tongue among the natives until he has unravelled the
skein of their relationships, alliances, feuds, and private wars--a
precept not unlike the classic injunction:
"Yes, my darling daughter.
Hang your clothes on a hickory limb,
But don't go near the water."
However, in my confusion I warmly regretted my failure to follow it, and
resolved not to blunder again.
Mr. Dowden thanked me for the information for which he had no real
desire, and, the elderly ladies again taking up (with all too evident
relief) their various mild debates, he inquired if I played bridge. "But
I forget," he added. "Of course you'll be at the 'Despatch' office in
the evenings, and can't be here." After which he immediately began to
question me about my work, making his determination to give me no
opportunity again to mention the Honorable David Beasley unnecessarily
conspicuous, as I thought.
I could only conclude that some unpleasantness had arisen between
himself and Beasley, probably of political origin, since they were both
in politics, and of personal (and consequently bitter) development; and
that Mr.
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