“His daughter,” said Standifer, “is sitting in my office.  She’s penniless.  She’s married to Benton Sharp, a coyote and a murderer.  He’s reduced her to want, and broken her heart.  Her father helped build up this state, and it’s the state’s turn to help his child.  A couple of thousand dollars will buy back her home and let her live in peace.  The State of Texas can’t afford to refuse it.  Give me the money, Uncle Frank, and I’ll give it to her right away.  We’ll fix up the red-tape business afterward.”

The treasurer looked a little bewildered.

“Why, Standifer,” he said, “you know I can’t pay a cent out of the treasury without a warrant from the comptroller.  I can’t disburse a dollar without a voucher to show for it.”

The commissioner betrayed a slight impatience.

“I’ll give you a voucher,” he declared.  “What’s this job they’ve given me for?  Am I just a knot on a mesquite stump?  Can’t my office stand for it?  Charge it up to Insurance and the other two sideshows.  Don’t Statistics show that Amos Colvin came to this state when it was in the hands of Greasers and rattlesnakes and Comanches, and fought day and night to make a white man’s country of it?  Don’t they show that Amos Colvin’s daughter is brought to ruin by a villain who’s trying to pull down what you and I and old Texans shed our blood to build up?  Don’t History show that the Lone Star State never yet failed to grant relief to the suffering and oppressed children of the men who made her the grandest commonwealth in the Union?  If Statistics and History don’t bear out the claim of Amos Colvin’s child I’ll ask the next legislature to abolish my office.  Come, now, Uncle Frank, let her have the money.  I’ll sign the papers officially, if you say so; and then if the governor or the comptroller or the janitor or anybody else makes a kick, by the Lord I’ll refer the matter to the people, and see if they won’t endorse the act.”

The treasurer looked sympathetic but shocked.  The commissioner’s voice had grown louder as he rounded off the sentences that, however praiseworthy they might be in sentiment, reflected somewhat upon the capacity of the head of a more or less important department of state.  The clerks were beginning to listen.

“Now, Standifer,” said the treasurer, soothingly, “you know I’d like to help in this matter, but stop and think a moment, please.  Every cent in the treasury is expended only by appropriation made by the legislature, and drawn out by checks issued by the comptroller.  I can’t control the use of a cent of it.  Neither can you.  Your department isn’t disbursive—­it isn’t even administrative—­it’s purely clerical.  The only way for the lady to obtain relief is to petition the legislature, and—­”

“To the devil with the legislature,” said Standifer, turning away.

The treasurer called him back.

“I’d be glad, Standifer, to contribute a hundred dollars personally toward the immediate expenses of Colvin’s daughter.”  He reached for his pocketbook.