Matters got his eye on me.
"'He had the other eye on that office. He saw he must make a strong
bid for county favor. The easiest way to do that in Mount Mark is to
get after a boot-legger. There was Snippy Brown, a poor old harmless
nigger, trying to earn an honest living by selling a surreptitious
bottle from a hole in the ground to a thirsting neighbor in the dead of
night. Plainly Snippy Brown was fairly crying to be raided. Matters
raided him. And he got a couple of hundred of bottles on ice.'
"'Served him right,' I said, in a Sabbatical voice.
"'To be sure it did. And Matters put him in jail and made a great fuss
getting ready for his trial. I had a friend at court and he tipped me
off that Matters was going to disgrace the Methodist Church in general
and the Connors in particular by calling me in as a witness, making me
tell where I bought sundry bottles known to have been in my possession.
Picture it to yourself, sweet Connie,--my white-haired mother, my
sad-eyed father, the condemning deacons, the sneering Sunday-school
teachers, the prim-lipped Epworth Leaguers,--it could not be. I left
town. Matters left also,--coming my way. For two days we have been at
it, hot foot, cold foot. We have covered most of southeastern Iowa in
forty-eight hours.
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