The other was from
Hoffmuller. Solon Denney was to know that some people might be just as
good as other people who thought themselves a lot better, and would he
please not take some shingles off a man's roof?
Solon, ever the incorrigible optimist, said, "Of course I might have
waited till he was on the train to give him the money; but don't worry,
he'll be ready enough to go when the 'bus starts."
I felt unable to share his confidence. That presentiment had for the
moment corrupted my natural hopefulness.
It was a few moments after ten when Potts next appeared to our group of
anxious watchers. This time he had more friends. They swarmed
respectfully but enthusiastically after him out of Hoffmuller's place, a
dozen at least of our ne'er-do-wells. One of these, "Big Joe" Kestril,
a genial lout of a section-hand, ostentatiously carried the bag and had
an arm locked tenderly through one of the Colonel's. These two led the
procession. It halted at the corner, where the Colonel began to read his
_Argus_ notice to Bela Bedford, our druggist, who had been on the point
of entering his store. But the newspaper had suffered. It was damp from
being laid on bars, and parts of it were in tatters.
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