Nobody seems to like to explain."

"The reason for that is plain enough," stated Fanny. "Nobody likes to
admit he's been made a fool of. The man who takes the gold brick
always tries to hide it if he can't blame it off on his wife or
sister or aunt. Andrew Bolton must have made perfectly awful fools of
everybody in Brookville. They must have thought of him as a little
tin god on wheels till he wrecked the bank and the silk factory, and
ran off with a lot of money belonging to his disciples, and got
caught by the hand of the law, and landed in State's Prison. That's
why they don't tell. Reckon my poor father, if he were alive,
wouldn't tell. I didn't have anything to do with it, so I am telling.
When Andrew Bolton embezzled the town went bust. Now the war in
Europe, through the grinding of wheels which I can't comprehend, has
bankrupted the street railway and the chair factory, and the town is
busted."

"But, as you say, if there is no money, why a fair?" Wesley had paled
a little.

"Oh," replied the girl, "there is always the hoarding instinct to be
taken into account. There are still a lot of stockings and feather
beds and teapots in Brookville. We still have faith that a fair can
mine a little gold out of them for you. Of course we don't know, but
this is a Yankee village, and Yankees never do spend the last cent. I
admit you may get somebody's funeral expenses out of the teapot."

"Good Lord!" groaned Wesley.

"That," remarked the girl, "is almost swearing. I am surprised, and