knee-breeches and buckles and satin coat and brocaded vest. Not even
my imagination could so clothe him. His practicality recalled me.

"I'll go over and find out what sort of place it is, and see if we
can get anything to ride in. Perhaps this man can tell me. Wait
here." He put out his hand as if to prevent my speaking first to the
man. I didn't intend to speak to him.

The man could tell him nothing. He lived seven miles back and had
come to the station to meet a friend who had failed to appear. There
were teams in the neighborhood that might be gotten. Swan Tavern
didn't have any. Used to, but most people nowaday, specially
drummers, wanted automobiles, and old Colonel Tavis, who owned the
place, wouldn't let an automobile come in his yard. Perhaps Major
Bresee might let him have his horse and buggy. The person who gave
the information changed his quid of tobacco from his left to his
right cheek and, spitting on the ground below the plank-loose
platform on which we were standing, pointed to a one-room
office-building down the street, then again surveyed us. Two or
three men across the road came over, and two or three others hanging
around the station drew nearer and nodded to us, while both of the
boys, hands in their pants pockets, stared up at Selwyn as if
something new had indeed come to town.

From each of the group, now uncomfortably close to us, the impression
radiated that the right of explanation was theirs as to why we should
appear in Claxon with no apparent purpose for so appearing.
Seemingly we were not the sort who usually applied for aid to the
minister of the little town, known far and near for his matrimonial
activities, and just what we wanted was a matter concerning which