“No,” the man assented in a surly way; “my letter⁠—it’s wrote by my daughter, but it’s mine⁠—is about my business, and my business ain’t nobody else’s business.”

As Bradley passed out at the gate with an undecided foot, he heard it shut behind him, and heard the footstep of the man coming after him.

“ ’Scuse me,” said the man, who appeared to have been drinking and rather stumbled at him than touched him, to attract his attention: “but might you be acquainted with the t’other Governor?”

“With whom?” asked Bradley.

“With,” returned the man, pointing backward over his right shoulder with his right thumb, “the t’other Governor?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”