good many things to trouble the "white man's candidate," who was to make such a thorough and brilliant canvass, and whose readiness, cheerfulness and indomitable spirit was everywhere remarked upon.
One night, as Pembroke was riding home after a hard day's work in the upper part of the county, and was just entering the long straggling village street, his horse began to limp painfully. Pembroke dismounted, and found his trusty sorrel had cast a shoe,—a nail had entered his foot, and there was a job for the blacksmith. He led the horse to the blacksmith's shop, which was still open, although it was past seven o'clock, and on the promise of having the damage repaired in half an hour, walked over to the village tavern.
It was in September, and the air was chilly. The landlord ushered him into what was called the "card room"—the only place there was a fire. A cheery blaze leaped up the wide old-fashioned chimney, and by the light of kerosene lamps, Pembroke saw a card party at a round table in the corner. It was Ahlberg, young Hibbs, his political opponent, and two or three other idle young men of the county.
According to the provincial etiquette, Pembroke was invited to join the game, which he courteously declined on the ground that he was much fatigued and was only waiting for the blacksmith to put his horse's shoe on before starting for home. The game then proceeded.
