The American Claimant | Page 7

Congressional
Delegate from Cherokee Strip!"
The Colonel sprang to his feet and broke out with prodigious
enthusiasm:
"Give me your hand, my boy--this is immense news! I congratulate you
with all my heart. My prophecies stand confirmed. I always said it was
in you. I always said you were born for high distinction and would
achieve it. You ask Polly if I didn't."
Washington was dazed by this most unexpected demonstration.
"Why, Colonel, there's nothing to it. That little narrow, desolate,
unpeopled, oblong streak of grass and gravel, lost in the remote wastes
of the vast continent--why, it's like representing a billiard table--a
discarded one."
"Tut-tut, it's a great, it's a staving preferment, and just opulent with
influence here."
"Shucks, Colonel, I haven't even a vote."
"That's nothing; you can make speeches."
"No, I can't. The population's only two hundred--"
"That's all right, that's all right--"
"And they hadn't any right to elect me; we're not even a territory,
there's no Organic Act, the government hasn't any official knowledge
of us whatever."

"Never mind about that; I'll fix that. I'll rush the thing through, I'll get
you organized in no time."
"Will you, Colonel?--it's too good of you; but it's just your old sterling
self, the same old ever-faithful friend," and the grateful tears welled up
in Washington's eyes.
"It's just as good as done, my boy, just as good as done. Shake hands.
We'll hitch teams together, you and I, and we'll make things hum!"



CHAPTER III
.
Mrs. Sellers returned, now, with her composure restored, and began to
ask after Hawkins's wife, and about his children, and the number of
them, and so on, and her examination of the witness resulted in a
circumstantial history of the family's ups and downs and driftings to
and fro in the far West during the previous fifteen years. There was a
message, now, from out back, and Colonel Sellers went out there in
answer to it. Hawkins took this opportunity to ask how the world had
been using the Colonel during the past half-generation.
"Oh, it's been using him just the same; it couldn't change its way of
using him if it wanted to, for he wouldn't let it."
"I can easily believe that, Mrs. Sellers."
"Yes, you see, he doesn't change, himself--not the least little bit in the
world--he's always Mulberry Sellers."
"I can see that plain enough."
"Just the same old scheming, generous, good-hearted, moonshiny,
hopeful, no-account failure he always was, and still everybody likes
him just as well as if he was the shiningest success."
"They always did: and it was natural, because he was so obliging and
accommodating, and had something about him that made it kind of
easy to ask help of him, or favors--you didn't feel shy, you know, or
have that wish--you--didn't--have--to--try feeling that you have with
other people."

"It's just so, yet; and a body wonders at it, too, because he's been
shamefully treated, many times, by people that had used him for a
ladder to climb up by, and then kicked him down when they didn't need
him any more. For a time you can see he's hurt, his pride's wounded,
because he shrinks away from that thing and don't want to talk about
it--and so I used to think now he's learned something and he'll be more
careful hereafter--but laws! in a couple of weeks he's forgotten all
about it, and any selfish tramp out of nobody knows where can come
and put up a poor mouth and walk right into his heart with his boots
on."
"It must try your patience pretty sharply sometimes."
"Oh, no, I'm used to it; and I'd rather have him so than the other way.
When I call him a failure, I mean to the world he's a failure; he isn't to
me. I don't know as I want him different much different, anyway. I
have to scold him some, snarl at him, you might even call it, but I
reckon I'd do that just the same, if he was different--it's my make. But
I'm a good deal less snarly and more contented when he's a failure than
I am when he isn't."
"Then he isn't always a failure," said Hawking, brightening.
"Him? Oh, bless you, no. He makes a strike, as he calls it, from time to
time. Then's my time to fret and fuss. For the money just flies-- first
come first served. Straight off, he loads up the house with cripples and
idiots and stray cats and all the different kinds of poor wrecks that other
people don't want and he does, and then when the poverty comes again
I've got to clear the most of them out or we'd starve; and that distresses
him, and me the same, of course.