have again and again been made the sport of a wayward and wanton ridicule. I say, gentlemen, I have always conducted myself as only a Potts knows how to conduct himself—and yet I have been pestered by cheap flings at my personal bearing. Is this courtesy, is it common fairness, is it the boasted civilization of our nineteenth century?"
Hoarse expressions of incredulity, of execration, of disgust, came from the crowd as it raised glasses once more. The Colonel glared down the sloppy length of the bar, then gazed aloft into the smoky heights. The crowd waited for him to say something.
"This is a beautiful day, gentlemen. A fine, balmy spring day. Let us be out and away to mossy dells. Why stay in this low drinking-place when all Nature beckons? Come on back to Hoffmuller's. Besides,"—he cast a reproachful look at the bar-tender,—"the hospitality of this place is not what an upright citizen of this great republic has a right to expect when he's throwing his good money right and left."
He marched out in hurt dignity, followed by his train, many of whom, in loyalty to their host, sneered openly at the bar-tender as they passed.
Outside the Colonel poised himself in gala attitude, and benignantly surveyed our quiet little Main Street in both directions. Across the way in the door of the First National Bank stood Asa Bundy, a look of interest on his face.
The Colonel's sweeping glance halted upon Bundy. With a glad cry he started across to him, but Bundy,
