“Have some lemonade, Mr. Jenney?  Do,” she urged.

“Well, I don’t care if I do,” he said, “just a little mite.”  He did not attempt to stop her as she filled the glass to the brim, but continued to regard her with a mixture of curiosity and admiration.  “Seen you nursin’ the baby and makin’ folks at home.  Guess you have the knack of it better’n some I could mention.”

This was such a palpable stroke at their host that Victoria laughed, and made haste to turn the subject from herself.

“Mr. Vane seems to be an old friend of yours,” she said.

“Why,” said Mr. Jenney, laying his hand on Austen’s shoulder, “I callate he is.  Austen’s broke in more’n one of my colts afore he went West and shot that feller.  He’s as good a judge of horse-flesh as any man in this part of the State.  Hear Tom Gaylord and the boys wanted him to be State senator.”

“Why didn’t you accept, Mr. Vane?”

“Because I don’t think the boys could have elected me,” answered Austen, laughing.

“He’s as popular a man as there is in the county,” declared Mr. Jenney.  He was a mite wild as a boy, but sence he’s sobered down and won that case against the railrud, he could get any office he’d a mind to.  He’s always adoin’ little things for folks, Austen is.”

“Did—­did that case against the railroad make him so popular?” asked Victoria, glancing at Austen’s broad back—­for he had made his escape with the cake.

“I guess it helped considerable,” Mr. Jenney admitted.

“Why?” asked Victoria.

“Well, it was a fearless thing to do—­plumb against his own interests with old Hilary Vane.  Austen’s a bright lawyer, and I have heard it said he was in line for his father’s place as counsel.”

“Do—­do people dislike the railroad?”

Mr. Jenney rubbed his beard thoughtfully.  He began to wonder who this young woman was, and a racial caution seized him.

“Well,” he said, “folks has an idea the railrud runs this State to suit themselves.  I guess they hain’t far wrong.  I’ve be’n to the Legislature and seen some signs of it.  Why, Hilary Vane himself has charge of the most considerable part of the politics.  Who be you?” Mr. Jenney demanded suddenly.

“I’m Victoria Flint,” said Victoria.

“Godfrey!” exclaimed Mr. Jenney, “you don’t say so!  I might have known it—­seen you on the rud more than once.  But I don’t know all you rich folks apart.  Wouldn’t have spoke so frank if I’d knowed who you was.”

“I’m glad you did, Mr. Jenney,” she answered.  “I wanted to know what people think.”

“Well, it’s almighty complicated,” said Mr. Jenney, shaking his head.  “I don’t know by rights what to think.  As long as I’ve said what I have, I’ll say this:  that the politicians is all for the railrud, and I hain’t got a mite of use for the politicians.  I’ll vote for a feller like Austen Vane every time, if he’ll run, and I know other folks that will.”