They rode in silence. He sat a little bent forward,
the lines held carelessly in his hands, his great leonine head
swaying to and fro with the movement of the buggy.
As they passed familiar spots, the younger man broke the silence
with a question.
"That's old man McElvaine's place, ain't it?"
"Old man living?"
"I guess he is. Husk more corn 'n any man he c'n hire."
On the edge of the village they passed an open lot on the left,
marked with circus rings of different eras.
"There's the old ball ground. Do they have circuses on it just the
same as ever?"
"Just the same."
"What fun that field calls up! The games of ball we used to have!
Do you play yet?"
"Sometimes. Can't stoop so well as I used to." He smiled a little.
"Too much fat."
It all swept back upon Howard in a flood of names and faces and
sights and sounds; something sweet and stirring somehow, though
it had little of esthetic charm at the time. They were passing along
lanes now, between superb fields of corn, wherein plowmen were
at work. Kingbirds flew from post to post ahead of them; the
insects called from the grass. The valley slowly outspread below
them. The workmen in the fields were "turning out" for the night;
they all had a word of chaff with McTurg.
Pages:
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95