It was wonderful how the young couples worked their way arm-in-arm through
the thickest crowds, never separating. Even at the lemonade stands they
drank holding the glasses in their outer hands--such are the sacrifices
demanded by etiquette. But, observing the gracious outpouring of fortune
upon the rustic with the rare accent, a youth in a green tie disengaged
his arm--for the first time in two hours--from that of a girl upon whose
finger there shone a ring, sumptuous and golden, and, conducting her to a
corner of the yard, bade her remain there until he returned. He had to
speak to Hartly Bowlder, he explained.
Then he plunged, red-faced and excited, into the circle about the shell
manipulators, and offered, to lay a wager.
"Hol' on there, Hen Fentriss," thickly objected a flushed young man beside
him, "iss my turn."
"I'm first. Hartley," returned the other. "You can hold yer bosses a
minute, I reckon."
"Plenty fer each and all, chents," interrupted one of the shell-men.
"Place yer spondulicks on de little ball. Wich is de next lucky one to win
our money? Chent bets four sixty-five he seen de little ball go under de
middle shell. Up she comes! Dis time we wins; Plattville can't win
every time. Who's de next chent?"
Fentriss edged slowly out of the circle, abashed, and with rapidly
whitening cheeks. He paused for a moment, outside, slowly realizing that
all his money had gone in one wild, blind whirl--the money he had earned
so hard and saved so hard, to make a holiday for his sweetheart and
himself. He stole one glance around the building to where a patient figure
waited for him. Then he fled down a side alley and soon was out upon the
country road, tramping soddenly homeward through the dust, his chin sunk
in his breast and his hands clenched tight at his sides. Now and then he
stopped and bitterly hurled a stone at a piping bird on a fence, or gay
Bob White in the fields. At noon the patient figure was still waiting in
the corner of the court-house yard, meekly twisting the golden ring upon
her finger.
But the flushed young man who had spoken thickly to her deserter drew an
envied roll of bankbills from his pocket and began to bet with tipsy
caution, while the circle about the gamblers watched with fervid interest,
especially Mr. Bardlock, Town Marshal.
From far up Main Street came the cry "She's a-comin'! She's a-comin'!"
and, this announcement of the parade proving only one of a dozen false
alarms, a thousand discussions took place over old-fashioned silver
timepieces as to when "she" was really due. Schofields' Henry was much
appealed to as an arbiter in these discussions, from a sense of his having
a good deal to do with time in a general sort of way; and thus Schofields'
came to be reminded that it was getting on toward ten o'clock, whereas, in
the excitement of festival, he had not yet struck nine. This, rushing
forthwith to do, he did; and, in the elation of the moment, seven or eight
besides. Miss Helen Sherwood was looking down on the mass of shifting
color from a second-story window--whither many an eye was upturned in
wonder--and she had the pleasure of seeing Schofields' emerge on the steps
beneath her, when the bells had done, and heard the cheers (led by Mr.
Martin) with which the laughing crowd greeted his appearance after the
performance of his feat.