general snicker in helpless silence. Then there was quiet for a space,
broken only by the click of knives against the heavy china and the
indolent rustle of Cynthia's fly-brush.

"Town so still," observed the landlord, finally, with a complacent glance
at the dessert course of prunes to which his guests were helping
themselves from a central reservoir, "Town so still, hardly seems like
show-day's come round again. Yet there's be'n some shore signs lately:
when my shavers come honeyin' up with, 'Say, pa, ain't they no urrands I
can go for ye, pa? I like to run 'em for you, pa,'--'relse, 'Oh, pa, ain't
they no water I can haul, or nothin', pa?'--'relse, as little Rosina T.
says, this morning, 'Pa, I always pray fer _you_ pa,' and pa this and pa
that-you can rely either Christmas or show-day's mighty close."

William Todd, taking occasion to prove himself recovered from confusion,
remarked casually that there was another token of the near approach of the
circus, as ole Wilkerson was drunk again.

"There's a man!" exclaimed Mr. Martin with enthusiasm. "There's the
feller for _my_ money! He does his duty as a citizen more discriminatin'ly
on public occasions than any man I ever see. There's Wilkerson's
celebration when there's a funeral; look at the difference between it and
on Fourth of July. Why, sir, it's as melancholy as a hearse-plume, and
sympathy ain't the word for it when he looks at the remains, no sir;
preacher nor undertaker, either, ain't _half_ as blue and respectful. Then
take his circus spree. He come into the store this afternoon, head up,
marchin' like a grenadier and shootin' his hand out before his face and
drawin' it back again, and hollering out, 'Ta, ta, ta-ra-ta, ta, ta-ta-
ra'--why, the dumbest man ever lived could see in a minute show's 'comin'
to-morrow and Wilkerson's playin' the trombone. Then he'd snort and goggle