Cyamon Johnson carried the story back to Coniston, where it had the effect of eliminating Mr. Price from local politics for some time to come.

That same morning Chester Perkins was seen by many driving wildly about from farm to farm, supposedly haranguing his supporters to make a final stand against the tyrant, but by noon it was observed by those naturalists who were watching him that his activity had ceased.  Chester arrived at dinner time at Joe Northcutt’s, whose land bordered on the piece of road which had caused so much trouble, and Joe and half a dozen others had been at work there all morning under the road agent whom Judge Parkinson had appointed.  Now Mrs. Northcutt was Chester’s sister, a woman who in addition to other qualities possessed the only sense of humor in the family.  She ushered the unsuspecting Chester into the kitchen, and there, seated beside Joe and sipping a saucer of very hot coffee, was Jethro Bass himself.  Chester halted in the doorway, his face brick-red, words utterly failing him, while Joe sat horror-stricken, holding aloft on his fork a smoking potato.  Jethro continued to sip his coffee.

“B-busy times, Chester,” he said, “b-busy times.”

Chester choked.  Where were the burning words of denunciation which came so easily to his tongue on other occasions?  It is difficult to denounce a man who insists upon drinking coffee.

“Set right down, Chester,” said Mrs. Northcutt, behind him.

Chester sat down, and to this day he cannot account for that action.  Once seated, habit asserted itself; and he attacked the boiled dinner with a ferocity which should have been exercised against Jethro.

“I suppose the stores down to the capital is finer than ever, Mr. Bass,” remarked Mrs. Northcutt.

“So-so, Mis’ Northcutt, so-so.”

“I was there ten years ago,” remarked Mrs. Northcutt, with a sigh of reminiscence, “and I never see such fine silks and bonnets in my life.  Now I’ve often wanted to ask you, did you buy that bonnet with the trembly jet things for Mis’ Bass?”

“That bonnet come out full better’n I expected,” answered Jethro, modestly.

“You have got taste in wimmin’s fixin’s, Mr. Bass.  Strange?  Now I wouldn’t let Joe choose my things for worlds.”

So the dinner progressed, Joe with his eyes on his plate, Chester silent, but bursting with anger and resentment, until at last Jethro pushed back his chair, and said good day to Mrs. Northcutt and walked out.  Chester got up instantly and went after him, and Joe, full of forebodings, followed his brother-in-law!  Jethro was standing calmly on the grass plot, whittling a toothpick.  Chester stared at him a moment, and then strode off toward the barn, unhitched his horse and jumped in his wagon.  Something prompted him to take another look at Jethro, who was still whittling.

“C-carry me down to the road, Chester—­c-carry me down to the road?” said Jethro.