Quincy laid back in his chair and laughed heartily.

“What do the boys say to you when you go to the reunions?” he asked.

“They tell me to take a little whiskey for my stummick’s sake,” said Hiram, “and some of them advise me to put on a plaster, and, darn ’em, they always take me and toss me in a blanket every time I go, and onct they made me a present of a bottleful of milk with a piece of rubber hose on top of it.  They said it would be good for me, but I chucked it at the feller’s head, darn him.”

Quincy had another good laugh.  Then he resumed his usual grave expression and asked, “What town offices does the singing-master hold?”

“Well,” said Hiram, “he is fence viewer and hog reeve and pound keeper, but the only thing he gets much money out of is tax collector.  He gets two per cent on about thirty thousand dollars, which gives him about ten dollars a week on an average, ’cause he don’t get no pay if he don’t collect.”

“Did he get a big vote for the place?” asked Quincy.

“No,” said Hiram “he just got in by the skin of his teeth; he had last town meetin’ two more votes than Wallace Stackpole, and Wallace would have got it anyhow if it hadn’t been for an unfortunate accident.”

“How was that?” asked Quincy.

“Well, you see,” said Hiram, “two or three days before town meetin’ Wallace went up to Boston.  He got an oyster stew for dinner, and it made him kinder sick, and some one gave him a drink of brandy, and I guess they gave him a pretty good dose, for when he got to Eastborough Centre they had to help him off the train, ’cause his legs were kinder weak.  Well, ’Bias Smith, who lives over to West Eastborough, he is the best talker we’ve got in town meetin’.  He took up the cudgels for Wallace, and he just lammed into those mean cusses who’d go back on a man ’cause he was sick and took a little too much medicine.  But Abner Stiles,—­you know Abner,—­well, he’s the next best talker to ’Bias Smith,—­he stood up and said he didn’t think it was safe to trust the town’s money to a man who couldn’t go to Boston and come home sober, and that pulled over some of the fellers who’d agreed to vote for Wallace.”

“Has the tax collector performed his duties satisfactorily?” asked Quincy.

“Well,” said Hiram, “Wallace Stackpole told me the other day that he hadn’t got in more than two-thirds of last year’s taxes.  He said the selectmen had to borrow money and there’d be a row at the next town meetin’.”

“Well,” said Quincy, rising, “I think I will go in and get ready for lunch.  I had a very early breakfast in Boston.”

“Did you have oyster stew?” asked Hiram.

“No,” replied Quincy, “people who live in Boston never eat oyster stews at a restaurant.  If they did there wouldn’t be enough left for those gentlemen who come from the country.”

He opened the door and Hiram grasped his arm.

“By Gosh!  I forgot one thing,” he cried.  “You remember Tilly James, that played the pianner at the concert?”