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 the hard times just before the election, but their excuses didn’t go.

“Then was my time.

“‘I called McClintock away from an animated conversation with his mules and told him to do some interpreting.

“‘Tell ’em,’ says I, ‘that gold-dust will buy for them these befitting ornaments for kings and queens of the earth. Tell ’em the yellow sand they wash out of the waters for the High Sanctified Yacomay and Chop Suey of the tribe will buy the precious jewels and charms that will make them beautiful and preserve and pickle them from evil spirits. Tell ’em the Pittsburg banks are paying four per cent. interest on deposits by mail, while this get-rich-frequently custodian of the public funds ain’t even paying attention. Keep telling ’em, Mac,’ says I, ‘to let the gold-dust family do their work. Talk to ’em like a born anti-Bryanite,’ says I. ‘Remind ’em that Tom Watson’s gone back to Georgia,’ says I.

“McClintock waves his hand affectionately at one of his mules, and then hurls a few stickfuls of minion type at the mob of shoppers.

“A gutta-percha Indian man, with a lady hanging on his arm, with three strings of my Rh