"What's the celebration?" asked Harkless, when Meredith returned.
"Picnic down the line," said Meredith.
"Nipping weather for a picnic; a little cool, don't you think? One of
those fellows looked like a friend of mine. Homer Tibbs, or as Homer might
look if he were in disgrace. He had his hat hung on his eyes, and he
slouched like a thief in melodrama, as he tacked up the bunting on this
side of the car." He continued to point out various familiar places,
finally breaking out enthusiastically, as they drew nearer the town,
"Hello! Look there--beyond the grove yonder! See that house?"
"Yes, John."
"That's the Bowlders'. You've got to know the Bowlders."
"I'd like to."
"The kindest people in the world. The Briscoe house we can't see, because
it's so shut in by trees; and, besides, it's a mile or so ahead of us.
We'll go out there for supper to-night. Don't you like Briscoe? He's the
best they make. We'll go up town with Judd Bennett in the omnibus, and
you'll know how a rapid-fire machine gun sounds. I want to go straight to
the 'Herald' office," he finished, with a suddenly darkening brow.
"After all, there may be some explanation," Meredith suggested, with a
little hesitancy. "H. Fisbee might turn out more honest than you think."
Harkless threw his head back and laughed; it was the first time Meredith
had heard him laugh since the night of the dance in the country. "Honest!
A man in the pay of Rodney McCune! Well, we can let it wait till we get
there. Listen! There's the whistle that means we're getting near home. By
heaven, there's an oil-well!"
"So it is."
"And another--three--five--seven--seven in sight at once! They tried it
three miles south and failed; but you can't fool Eph Watts, bless him! I
want you to know Watts."
They were running by the outlying houses of the town, amidst a thousand
descriptive exclamations from Harkless, who wished Meredith to meet every
one in Carlow. But he came to a pause in the middle of a word.
"Do you hear music?" he asked abruptly. "Or is it only the rhythm of the
ties?"
"It seems to me there's music in the air," answered his companion. "I've
been fancying I heard it for a minute or so. There! No--yes. It's a band,
isn't it?"
"No; what would a band----"
The train slowed up, and stopped at a watertank, two hundred yards east of
the station, and their uncertainty was at an end.