He knew that he ought not to
be hot, and yet he was--so hot that
he refused to reason with himself even
a minute, and hurried on. It was odd
that it should be so, but just about
that time, over in Virginia, a cattle
dealer, nearing home, stopped to tell
a neighbor how he had tricked some
black-whiskered fool up in the mountains.
It may have been just when he
was laughing aloud over there, that the
Senator, over here, tore his woollen
shirt from his great hairy chest and
rushed into the icy stream, clapping
his arms to his burning sides and
shouting in his frenzy.
``If he had lived a little longer,'' said
a constituent, ``he would have lost the
next election. He hadn't the money,
you know.''
``If he had lived a little longer,'' said
the mountain preacher high up on Yellow
Creek, ``I'd have got that trade I
had on hand with him through. Not
that I wanted him to die, but if he
had to--why--''
``If he had lived a little longer,''
said the Senator's lawyer, ``he would
have cleaned off the score against
him.''
``If he had lived a little longer,'' said
the Senator's sister, not meaning to
be unkind, ``he would have got all I
have.
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