The Gentleman from Indiana

It was wonderful how the young couples worked their way arm-in-arm through

the thickest crowds, never separating. Even at the lemonade stands they

drank holding the glasses in their outer hands--such are the sacrifices

demanded by etiquette. But, observing the gracious outpouring of fortune

upon the rustic with the rare accent, a youth in a green tie disengaged

his arm--for the first time in two hours--from that of a girl upon whose

finger there shone a ring, sumptuous and golden, and, conducting her to a

corner of the yard, bade her remain there until he returned. He had to

speak to Hartly Bowlder, he explained.

Then he plunged, red-faced and excited, into the circle about the shell

manipulators, and offered, to lay a wager.

"Hol' on there, Hen Fentriss," thickly objected a flushed young man beside

him, "iss my turn."

"I'm first. Hartley," returned the other. "You can hold yer bosses a

minute, I reckon."

"Plenty fer each and all, chents," interrupted one of the shell-men.

"Place yer spondulicks on de little ball. Wich is de next lucky one to win

our money? Chent bets four sixty-five he seen de little ball go under de

middle shell. Up she comes! Dis time we wins; Plattville can't win

every time. Who's de next chent?"

Fentriss edged slowly out of the circle, abashed, and with rapidly

whitening cheeks. He paused for a moment, outside, slowly realizing that

all his money had gone in one wild, blind whirl--the money he had earned

so hard and saved so hard, to make a holiday for his sweetheart and

himself. He stole one glance around the building to where a patient figure

waited for him. Then he fled down a side alley and soon was out upon the

country road, tramping soddenly homeward through the dust, his chin sunk

in his breast and his hands clenched tight at his sides. Now and then he

stopped and bitterly hurled a stone at a piping bird on a fence, or gay

Bob White in the fields. At noon the patient figure was still waiting in

the corner of the court-house yard, meekly twisting the golden ring upon

her finger.

But the flushed young man who had spoken thickly to her deserter drew an

envied roll of bankbills from his pocket and began to bet with tipsy

caution, while the circle about the gamblers watched with fervid interest,

especially Mr. Bardlock, Town Marshal.

From far up Main Street came the cry "She's a-comin'! She's a-comin'!"

and, this announcement of the parade proving only one of a dozen false

alarms, a thousand discussions took place over old-fashioned silver

timepieces as to when "she" was really due. Schofields' Henry was much

appealed to as an arbiter in these discussions, from a sense of his having

a good deal to do with time in a general sort of way; and thus Schofields'

came to be reminded that it was getting on toward ten o'clock, whereas, in

the excitement of festival, he had not yet struck nine. This, rushing

forthwith to do, he did; and, in the elation of the moment, seven or eight

besides. Miss Helen Sherwood was looking down on the mass of shifting

color from a second-story window--whither many an eye was upturned in

wonder--and she had the pleasure of seeing Schofields' emerge on the steps

beneath her, when the bells had done, and heard the cheers (led by Mr.

Martin) with which the laughing crowd greeted his appearance after the

performance of his feat.