after our reaching the ferry, a number of vehicles drove in from Oakville.  One of these conveyances was an elaborate six-horse stage, owned by Bethel & Oxenford, star route mail contractors between San Antonio and Brownsville, Texas.  Seated by young Oxenford’s side in the driver’s box sat Esther McLeod, while inside the coach was her sister, Mrs. Martin, with the senior member of the firm, his wife, and several other invited guests.  I had heard something of the gallantry of young Jack Oxenford, who was the nephew of a carpet-bag member of Congress, and prided himself on being the best whip in the country.  In the latter field I would gladly have yielded him all honors, but his attentions to Esther were altogether too marked to please either me or my employer.  I am free to admit that I was troubled by this turn of affairs.  The junior mail contractor made up in egotism what he lacked in appearance, and no doubt had money to burn, as star route mail contracting was profitable those days, while I had nothing but my monthly wages.  To make matters more embarrassing, a blind man could have read Mrs. Martin’s approval of young Oxenford.

The programme for the forenoon was brief—­a few patriotic songs and an oration by a young lawyer who had come up from Corpus Christi for the occasion.  After listening to the opening song, my employer and I took a stroll down by the river, as we were too absorbed in the new complications to pay proper attention to the young orator.

“Tom,” said Uncle Lance, as we strolled away from the grove, “we are up against the real thing now.  I know young Oxenford, and he’s a dangerous fellow to have for a rival, if he really is one.  You can’t tell much about a Yankee, though, for he’s usually egotistical enough to think that every girl in the country is breaking her neck to win him.  The worst of it is, this young fellow is rich—­he’s got dead oodles of money and he’s making more every hour out of his mail contracts.  One good thing is, we understand the situation, and all’s fair in love and war.  You can see, though, that Mrs. Martin has dealt herself a hand in the game.  By the dough on her fingers she proposes to have a fist in the pie.  Well, now, son, we’ll give them a run for their money or break a tug in the effort.  Tom, just you play to my lead to-day and we’ll see who holds the high cards or knows best how to play them.  If I can cut him off, that’ll be your chance to sail in and do a little close-herding yourself.”

We loitered along the river bank until the oration was concluded, my employer giving me quite an interesting account of my rival.  It seems that young Oxenford belonged to a family then notoriously prominent in politics.  He had inherited quite a sum of money, and, through the influence of his congressional uncle, had been fortunate enough to form a partnership with Bethel, a man who knew all the ropes in mail contracting.  The senior member of the firm knew how to shake the tree, while the financial resources of the junior member and the political influence of his uncle made him a valuable man in gathering the plums on their large field of star route contracts.  Had not exposure interrupted, they were due to have made a large fortune out of the government.