Former Governor Thomas Mitchell Campbell, September 1913
“Governor,” says his son-in-law Clarence, “you hit the ball out of the park this afternoon. You left the crowd at the Cotton Carnival clamoring for more. The senatorial bee was buzzing in all of Galveston’s bonnets.”
“It felt good to be up there on the stage to counter the chicanery and political pecksniffery of the Colquitt machine. And the hoots of support from the old Tehuacana boys in the audience lifted my spirits. I never go anywhere in the state without bumping into fellow alumni from Trinity. If I had attended one of those uppity eastern universities, I doubt I could’ve been elected. The enthusiasm of the old Tehuacana boys carried me through the convention.
“Thought the prophecies of the Book of Revelation were coming true last night!” John hangs his hat and umbrella on the stand just inside the door of Mr. K’s office.
“My best hens,” responds Mr. K, “never laid an egg as large as those hailstones plummeting down from the heavens. Half the slate tiles from my roof lie splintered on the ground. Both greenhouses shattered. All their contents destroyed.”
“Your financial loss must be enormous,” remarks Andy. “I am so sorry, sir.”
“Approximately 5,000 dollars. But my mourning is not monetary. Insurance will replace the roof and the glass. But those rare specimens of orchids I collected and cultivated? Irreplaceable.”
Mr. Koehler steps forward to help Hedda with her wrap. “You have no idea how grateful Missus Koehler and I are that you were able to substitute for Miss Dumpke today. Missus Koehler kept you here longer than anticipated. You must allow me to drive you to meet the streetcar.”
“I was happy to be of assistance, Mister Koehler. Thank you, though, there is no need for me to inconvenience you. The stop is close, and I enjoy walking.”
“I insist,” Mr. Koehler says. “I’ll get the carriage.”