Former Governor Thomas Mitchell Campbell, September 1915
“‘Work is His answer to prayer. Work is reward for faithful work. Work His expression of care. Work is iron to human blood. Work, the crown of all mankind.’” Thomas folds the newspaper up so he can eat his eggs and bacon without having to read more of Pa Ferguson’s Labor Day speech.
“I can’t stand having that peanut politician in the governor’s mansion, Fannie. Not sure whether he tries to portray himself as a preacher or Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.”
“Well, his words lack the eloquence of ‘The Village Blacksmith,’ and he is a far cry from a blessing sent by God.”
“Andy, what does Mister Slayden have to say?” asks the Colonel.
Andy stands up to pass the Congressman’s letter across the desk to the Colonel.
“No, no. Read it to me.”
“Yes, sir.” Things have changed a lot in this office. Andy is trying to adjust to the differences in style. He misses the conversations the men used to have. He even misses his brother John, who drops by less frequently. The trio was like a three-legged stool supporting the brewery operations. With Mr. K gone, everything is off-balance, wobbly with only two legs remaining. Mrs. Koehler comes to the brewery frequently, but she’s not slipping easily into the role of that third leg.