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'How are you, Stidger? I said; 'I haven't seen you since we used to meet driving over the Shell Road in '53. 'Excuse me, sir, said he, 'my name is not Stidger, it's Brown. I looked him in the eye, sir, and saw him quiver. 'Then I must apologize to Stidger, I said, 'for supposing him capable of changing his name. He came to me an hour after, all in a tremble.
"It ain't that," said Captain Stidger energetically, "but the trouble with Harry Pendleton is that he hasn't grown with the State, and never adjusted himself to it. And he won't. He thinks the Millennium was between the fall of '49 and the spring of '50, and after that everything dropped.
"Perfectly natural and a frequent occurrence," interposed the Colonel cheerfully. "Only last year I met an old friend whom we'll call Stidger, of New Orleans, at the Union Club, 'Frisco.
That night, while seated at supper with her hostess, the blacksmith's wife, it came to Miss Mary to ask, demurely, if her husband ever got drunk. "Abner," responded Mrs. Stidger, reflectively, "let's see: Abner hasn't been tight since last 'lection."
"Had an official position private secretary afore he was twenty," explained Shear, in perfectly audible confidence. "Since then the city has made great strides, leaping full-grown, sir, in a single night," said Captain Stidger, hastily ascending the rostrum again with a mixed metaphor, to the apparent concern of a party of handsomely dressed young ladies who had recently entered the parlor.
But I've brought a few friends of our party that I reckoned to introduce to you. Cap'n Stidger, Chairman of our Central Committee, Mr. Henry J. Hoskins, of the firm of Hoskins and Bloomer, and Joe Slate, of the 'Union Press, one of our most promising journalists.
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