himself at the window of the coach, "Mr. Greeley, sir! We are come
to most cordially welcome you, sir--why, God bless me, sir, you are
bleeding at the nose!"

"I've got my orders!" cried Mr. Monk. "My orders is as follers:
Get him there by seving! It wants a quarter to seving. Stand out
of the way!"

"But, sir," exclaimed the Committee-man, seizing the off leader by
the reins--"Mr Monk, we are come to escort him into town! Look at
the procession, sir, and the brass bands, and the people, and the
young women, sir!"

"I'VE GOT MY ORDERS!" screamed Mr. Monk. "My orders don't say
nothin' about no brass bands and young women. My orders says, 'git
him there by seving!' Let go them lines! Clear the way there!
Whoo-ep! KEEP YOUR SEAT, HORACE!" and the coach dashed wildly
through the procession, upsetting a portion of the brass band, and
violently grazing the wagon which contained the beautiful young
women in white.

Years hence, gray-haired men, who were little boys in this
procession, will tell their grandchildren how this stage tore
through Mud Springs, and how Horace Greeley's bald head ever and
anon showed itself, like a wild apparition, above the coach-roof.

Mr. Monk was on time. There is a tradition that Mr. Greeley was
very indignant for a while; then he laughed, and finally presented
Mr. Monk with a brand new suit of clothes.