“Want to go fishin’?” Uncle Peabody called.

“You bet I do.  Gosh!  I ain’t had no fun since I went to Joe Brown’s funeral an’ that day I enjoyed myself—­damned if I didn’t!  Want to go up the river?”

“We thought we’d go up to your camp and fish a day or two.”

“All right!  We’ll hitch in the hosses.  My wife’ll take care of ’em ’til we git back.  Say it looks as fishy as hell, don’t it?”

“This is Mr. Silas Wright—­the Comptroller,” said Uncle Peabody.

“It is!  Gosh almighty!  I ought to have knowed it,” said Bill Seaver, his tone and manner having changed like magic to those of awed respect.  “I see ye in court one day years ago.  If I’d knowed ’twas you I wouldn’t ‘a’ swore as I did.”  The men began laughing and then he added:  “Damned if I would!”

“It won’t hurt me any—­the boy is the one,” said Mr. Wright as he took my hand and strolled up the river bank with me.  I rather feared and dreaded those big roaring men like Bill Seaver.

The horses were hitched in and the canoes washed out.  Then we all turned to and dug some angle-worms.  The poles were brought—­lines, hooks and sinkers were made ready and in an hour or so we were on our way up the river, Mr. Wright and I and Uncle Peabody being in one of the canoes, the latter working the paddle.

I remember how, as we went along, Mr. Wright explained the fundamental theory of his politics.  I gave strict attention because of my pride in the fact that he included me in the illustration of his point.  This in substance is what he said, for I can not pretend to quote his words with precision although I think they vary little from his own, for here before me is the composition entitled “The Comptroller,” which I wrote two years later and read at a lyceum in the district schoolhouse.

“We are a fishing party.  There are four of us who have come together with one purpose—­that of catching fish and having a good time.  We have elected Bill guide because he knows the river and the woods and the fish better than we do.  It’s Bill’s duty to give us the benefit of his knowledge, and to take us to and from camp and out of the woods at our pleasure and contribute in all reasonable ways to our comfort.  He is the servant of his party.  Now if Bill, having approved our aim and accepted the job from us, were to try to force a new aim upon the party and insist that we should all join him in the sport of catching butterflies, we would soon break up.  If we could agree on the butterfly program that would be one thing, but if we held to our plan and Bill stood out, he would be a traitor to his party and a fellow of very bad manners.  As long as the aims of my party are, in the main, right, I believe its commands are sacred.  Always in our country the will of the greatest number ought to prevail—­right or wrong.  It has a right even to make mistakes, for through them it should learn wisdom and gradually adjust itself to the will of its greatest leaders.”