With eight dollars in his pocket, after purchasing his railroad ticket, Bully Carson climbed aboard the express. He did not go into a Pullman, for that would cost more money. Instead, he sauntered up to the smoking car, rolling a cigarette as he went. For this occasion he had abandoned his “swellest” clothes, being simply clad in a black-and-white, shiny-buttoned suit that shrieked aloud, a plain orange-and-white necktie, and a pair of patent-leather shoes with green uppers. Bully desired to avoid all prominence during his stay in Fardale, and so had picked out his meekest raiment for the trip.
He found the smoking car fairly well filled, and with his mind still occupied with the subject of raising some money with which to bet for himself, he dropped into a seat beside a small, dried-up little man.
Now, there are many people who gauge other people’s importance by their clothes, and who do so without any regard for taste. Ezra Hostetter had run a laundry all his life, and he was the simplest-hearted person that ever ironed a collar. Being of extremely dull taste as regarded his own[228] attire, he entertained an unlimited admiration for those fortunate men who could afford and carry off gorgeous apparel with perfect ease.
Consequently, he directed one startled glance at Bully’s glorious harmony of colors, and was lost. With honest longing stamped on his face, he directed sly but highly admiring side looks that feasted on everything from the green-topped shoes to the scarlet-and-blue hatband incasing Bully’s purple felt hat.
To be sure, the eye patch slightly detracted from Bully’s appearance. Ezra Hostetter began to swell with importance at sitting next this ornate personage. Possibly it was a prize fighter, or, at the very least, a follower of sports!
Not being a judge of character, the little man stole further worshiping glances as Bully grandly lighted his cigarette and snapped the match away. Being an excellent judge of character and delighting in posing, Bully was not slow to detect the point-blank admiration of his seatmate, and to delight in it.
“Fine weather, ain’t it?” he remarked condescendingly. “Goin’ to Fardale?”
Ezra Hostetter jumped, then stammered out an overjoyed assent:
“Yes, I’m going to buy a laundry there, Mr.—— Mr.——”
“Carson,” prompted Bully, settling his thumbs[229] in his vest and leaning back. “Ed Carson, of Carsonville. I’m glad to meet you, Mr.——”
“Hostetter, Ezra Hostetter,” said the dried-up little laundryman.
Bully positively basked during the next few moments. He had had little opportunity to do any basking around home, of late, and the chance was too good to be missed. And since he could also be very genial when he chose, he soon fell into a conversation with Hostetter which was extremely pleasant on both sides.
He did not uncase his splendor all at once, however. Having seen the simplicity of his companion’s heart, he began to take a keen delight in letting him discover his grandeur by degrees.
It seemed that Hostetter had heard of Colonel Carson, and, upon discovering that he was talking with that famous man’s son, his admiration eclipsed all bounds. After a little he ventured a timid query as to Bully’s profession.
“I’m a ball player,” announced Bully, with quiet dignity. “Not a professional, y’ understand, though I may consider an offer from the Giants this summer.”
This was the final straw. Poor Hostetter, blinded by the limitations of his own experience, carried away by the glamour of Bully’s wondrous raiment, positively groveled. And Bully continued to bask in open-mouthed admiration of[230] the other, until it occurred to him that he had better account for his black eye.
“I got this in my last game,” and he lightly touched the patch. “I was pitching, and the batter hit out a liner at me. I tried to stop it, but the ball broke through my hands and struck my eye. Even so, I caught it before it reached the ground, and so won the game.”
He reeled off this fabrication with amazing ease. Across the aisle was seated a man who had got on at Carsonville, and who knew nothing of how Bully had really obtained that injured optic. He grinned, and nudged the man beside him. Bully did not notice it, however.
Presently the conversation became even more personal. Bully discovered that his companion was proceeding to Fardale to invest in a laundry there, which was for sale. After a cautious glance around, Hostetter pulled forth a long black wallet and opened it out.
“Look at this!” he exclaimed proudly, anxious to prove to the great man that he, too, had symptoms of nobility. “There’s a thousand dollars in cash—in cash, mind you! I’m going to buy that laundry with it.”
Bully leaned over. At sight of the ten hundred-dollar bills his senses reeled, and sparks danced before his eyes. A thousand dollars in cash!
“By glory!” he gasped inwardly. “If I only[231] had that much, what a clean-up I’d make on this Fardale game!”
He was more cautious in expressing his thoughts aloud, however.
“Why didn’t you get a draft? You could ’a’ cashed ............