Previously in the book: Farmboy Harley Sadler joined a traveling melodrama show, married a pretty girls, opened his own show, loaned money to farmers, and lost it all during the Depression. He came back with a smaller show and went into politics.

A few months later on the steps of the Texas Capitol, photographers flashed their cameras at Harley, Billie and Gloria.
“One more shot!” one of them hollered. “Look this way, folks!”
Billie put on her best pose, raising her chin so her developing thickness around her neck did not show. Gloria hugged her father who obviously enjoyed himself very much.
“How does it feel to be entering a new career, Harley?” a reporter asked.
“Just like opening night.”
“Have any priorities, Harley?” another asked.
“Just treat the people right.”
“Are you staying in Austin with Harley, Billie?” a third one asked her.
“Oh no,” she replied. “I’m going home to Sweetwater. My mother Lou is not feeling well and needs attention. And I’ve got to get Gloria ready for college.”
“Where are you going to college, Gloria?” The first reporter turned to her.
“Hardin-Simmons Baptist College.”
“Then the rumors about you going to Hollywood aren’t true?”
“Absolutely not true,” Gloria responded with a big smile.
***
Harley settled into his office in the pink granite State Capitol in downtown Austin. Taking a deep breath, he sat and opened the top folder on his desk. For the first time in his life, Harley faced a job which did not depend on his ability to make people laugh. His vote would determine whether his dirt farmers would survive or slowly disappear from the great expanse of the West Texas plains. This challenge went beyond the capabilities of a young principal comedian. It needed a mature serious minded solon—a wise man.
A smile graced his face, beginning to show lines of age, pain and endurance. Harley was not afraid. He was sure this was a job he could master and not disappoint the folks back home. A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. A tall gray-haired man in a nicely tailored suit eased into the room.
“I don’t want to bother you, but I want to welcome you to the Legislature. I’m sure you don’t remember me. I’m Farrell McConnell, the representative from North Dallas.”
Harley stood and extended his hand. “Of course I remember. You’re the House Democratic Whip. Everybody better know who you are. As I recall, we met at a barbecue fundraiser in Abilene. You said your wife couldn’t attend because she had a cold. I hope she’s feeling better.”
“Oh.” Farrell paused in surprise. “Yes, she’s feeling much better. Thanks for asking.”
“Tell her I said hi.”
“I will.” Quickly recovering his composure, he did not wait to be invited and sat with a familiar ease across the desk from Harley. “Well, part of my job is to help the freshmen legislators avoid some of the pitfalls.”
“And what might they be?” Harley smiled as he sat with equal ease.
“You have to be aware of bad bills.”
Harley picked up the folder on top of the stack and handed it to Farrell. “How about this one?”
The Whip took it, opened the folder and frowned as he read. “Just what I was talking about. We don’t need our district boundaries changed.”
Harley walked around the desk, took the folder and flipped to the map in the middle. “Looking at this map, I don’t see anything wrong with the way they want to change the boundaries.”
“Harley,” Farrell began with a weary sigh, “You’ve got to understand folks get used to voting at a certain place and with certain neighbors.”
“But the boundaries as they are now don’t seem to make a whole lot of sense.”
Farrell raised his voice, while maintaining a certain sense of dignity. “We can’t have the boundaries cut through people’s backyards right through their clothes lines!”
“The clothes will dry just the same, either way, won’t they? Harley asked with his well-practiced charm.
Before Farrell could reply, Sweetwater Democratic wheeler dealers Burford and Billy Bob knocked at the door and stuck their heads in. “Busy?” Billy Bob exposed a toothy grin. “We’d like to congratulate our new legislator.”
A resigned look on his face, Farrell stood and walked toward them. “Be my guest. I have to go.” As he passed them in the doorway, he whispered, “I thought you said we were getting Toby.”
“We are,” Burford reassured in a muted tone.
Farrell’s reply was more of a hiss. “No, we’re not.”