Actually living out there ?" "Well, yes, if a body may call it that; though it's a pretty strong term for 'dobies and jackass rabbits, boiled beans and slap-jacks, depression, withered hopes, poverty in all its varieties--" "Louise out there ?" "Yes, and the children." "Out there now ?" "Yes, I couldn't afford to bring them with me." "Oh, I see,--you had to come--claim against the government.

Make yourself perfectly easy--I'll take care of that." "But it isn't a claim against the government." "No?
Want to be postmaster?
That's all right.

Leave it to me.

I'll fix it." "But it isn't postmaster--you're all astray yet." "Well, good gracious, Washington, why don't you come out and tell me what it is?
What, do you want to be so reserved and distrustful with an old friend like me, for?
Don't you reckon I can keep a se--" "There's no secret about it--you merely don't give me a chance to--" "Now look here, old friend, I know the human race; and I know that when a man comes to Washington, I don't care if it's from heaven, let alone Cherokee-Strip, it's because he wants something.

And I know that as a rule he's not going to get it; that he'll stay and try--for another thing and won't get that; the same luck with the next and the next and the next; and keeps on till he strikes bottom, and is too poor and ashamed to go back, even to Cherokee Strip; and at last his heart breaks--and they take up a collection and bury him.