The
two big horses, one in front of the other, continuously tinkled the
metal disks on their forehead bands; Mr. Allen and other neighbors
came out of their shops; Miss Yorke and the clerks from the office
filled the pavement; children gathered about the wagon staring
silently, and Miss Waddy on the opposite pavement waved her
handkerchief and said "Oh, dear! oh, dear!"
"Good luck!"
"Thank you, thank you kindly." Dale moved about briskly, shaking hands
with every one. Already he had abandoned all trace of his ancient
official costume. In cord breeches and leather gaiters, his straw hat
on the back of his head, he looked thoroughly farmer-like, and he
seemed to have assumed the jovial independent manner as well as the
clothes appropriate to the man who has no other master but the winds
and the weather.
"So long, Mr. Allen. Put in a good word for me at the Kennels."
"I will so, Mr. Dale."
"Good-by, Mr. Silcox. Hope you'll honor us with a call whenever you're
passing. And if you can, give me a lift in the _Courier_. I may say
it's my intention to patronize their advertisement columns regular,
soon's ever I begin to feel my feet under me."
"See _Rodchurch Gossip_ next issue," said Mr. Silcox significantly.
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