Part 2 (1/2)
”Perhaps,” said I. The question had a world of philosophy and logic in it.
The shattered wreck of a magnificent guitar lay in the middle of the floor. I picked it up, and, engraved on a heavy silver plate set in the ebony neck, I read the name, Georgina Olive Afton.
TROUT'S LUCK.
As early as eight o'clock the grand entrance gateway to the Kokomo fair ground was thronged with vehicles of almost every kind; hors.e.m.e.n, pedestrians, dogs and dust were borne forward together in clouds that boiled and swayed and tumbled. Noise seemed to be the chief purpose of every one and the one certain result of every thing in the crowd.
This had been advertised as the merriest day that might ever befall the quiet, honest folk of the rural regions circ.u.mjacent to Kokomo, and it is even hinted that aristocratic dames and business plethoric men of the town itself had caught somewhat of the excitement spread abroad by the announcement in the county papers, and by huge bills posted in conspicuous places, touching Le Papillon and his monster balloon, which balloon and which Le Papillon were pictured to the life, on the said posters, in the act of sailing over the sun, and under the picture, in remarkably distinct letters, ”No humbug! go to the fair!”
Dozier's minstrel troupe was dancing and singing attendance on this agricultural exhibition, too, and somebody's whirling pavilion, a shooting gallery, a monkey show, the gla.s.s works, and what not of tempting promises of entertainments, ”amusing and instructive.”
Until eleven o'clock the entrance gateway to the fair ground was crowded. Farm wagons trundled in, drawn by sleek, well fed plough nags, and stowed full of smiling folk, old and young, male and female, from the out towns.h.i.+ps; buggies with youths and maidens, the sparkle of breastpins and flutter of ribbons; spring wagons full of students and hard bats from town; carriages br.i.m.m.i.n.g with laces, flounces, over skirts, fancy kid gloves, funny little hats and less bonnets, all fermented into languid ebullition by mild-eyed ladies; omnibuses that bore fleshy gentlemen, who wore linen dusters and silk hats and smoked fine cigars; and jammed in among all these were boys on skittish colts, old fellows on flea-bit gray mares, with now and then a reckless stripling on a mule. Occasionally a dog got kicked or run over, giving the a.s.sistance of his howls and yelps to the general din, and over all the dust hung heavily in a yellow cloud, shot through with the lightning of burnished trappings and echoing with the hoa.r.s.e thunder of the trampling, shouting rumbling mult.i.tude. Indeed, that hot aguish autumn day let fall its suns.h.i.+ne on the heads and blew its feverish breath through the rifts of the greatest and liveliest ma.s.s of people ever a.s.sembled in Howard county.
Inside the extensive enclosure the mult.i.tude divided itself into streams, ponds, eddies, refluent currents and noisy whirlpools of people. Some rare attraction was everywhere.
Early in the day the eyes of certain of the rustic misses followed admiringly the forms of Jack Trout and Bill Powell, handsome young fellows dressed in homespun clothes, who, arm in arm, strolled leisurely across the grounds, looking sharply about for some proper place to begin the expenditure of what few dimes they had each been able to h.o.a.rd up against this gala day. They had not long to hunt. On every hand the ”hawkers hawked their wares.”
Rising and falling, tender-toned, deftly managed, a voice rang out across the crowd pleading with those who had long desired a good investment for their money, and begging them to be sure and not let slip this last golden opportunity.
”Only a half a dollah! Come right along this way now! Here's the great golden scheme by which thousands have ama.s.sed untold fortunes! Here's your only and last chance to get two ounces of first cla.s.s candy, with the probability of five dollars in gold coin, all for the small sum of half a dollah! And the cry is--still they come!”
The speaker was such a man as one often observes in a first cla.s.s railway car, with a stout valise beside him containing samples, dressed with remarkable care, and ever on the alert to make one's acquaintance.
He stood on top of a small table or tripod, holding in his hand a green pasteboard package just taken from a box at his feet.
”Only a half a dollah and a fortune in your grasp! Here's the gold! Roll right this way and run your pockets over!”
Drifting round with the tide of impulsive pleasure seekers into which they happened to fall, Jack Trout and Bill Powell floated past a bevy of la.s.ses, the prettiest of whom was Minny Hart, a girl whose healthy, vivid beauty was fast luring Jack on to the rock of matrimonial proposals.
”Jimminy, but ain't she a little sweety!” exclaimed the latter, pinching Bill's arm as they pa.s.sed, and glancing lovingly at Minny.
”You're tellin' the truth and talkin' it smooth,” replied Bill, bowing to the girls with the swagger peculiar to a rustic who imagines he has turned a fine period. And with fluttering hearts the boys pa.s.sed on.
”Roll on ye torrents! Only a half a dollah! Right this way if you want to become a bloated aristocrat in less than no time! Five dollahs in gold for only a half a dollah! And whose the next lucky man?”
Blown by the fickle, gusty breath of luck, our two young friends were finally wafted to the feet of this oily vendor of prize packages, and they there lodged, becalmed in breathless interest, to await their turn, each full of faith in the yellow star of his fortune--a gold coin of the value of five dollars. They stood attentively watching the results of other men's investments, feeling their fingers tingle when now and then some lucky fellow drew the coveted prize. Five dollars is a mighty temptation to a poor country boy in Indiana. That sum will buy oceans of fun at a fair where almost any ”sight” is to be seen for the ”small sum of twenty-five cents!”
Without stopping to take into consideration the possible, or rather, the probable result of such a venture, Bill Powell handed up his half dollar to the prize man, thus risking the major part of all the money he had, and stood trembling with excitement while the fellow broke open the chosen package. Was it significant of anything that a blue jay fluttered for a moment right over the crier's head just at the point of his detaching some glittering object from the contents of the box?
”Here you are, my friend; luck's a fortune!” yelled the man, as he held the gold coin high above his head, shaking it in full view of all eyes in the mult.i.tude. ”Here you are! which 'd you rather have, the gold or five and a half in greenbacks?”
”Hand me in the rag chips--gold don't feel good to my fingers,” answered Bill Powell, swaggering again and grasping the currency with a hand that shook with eagerness.
Jack Trout stood by, clutching in his feverish palm a two-dollar bill.
His face was pale, his lips set, his muscles rigid. He hesitated to trust in the star of his destiny. He stood eyeing the bridge of Lodi, the d.y.k.es of Arcole. Would he risk all on a bold venture? His right shoulder began to twitch convulsively.
”Still it rolls, and who's the next lucky man? Don't all speak at once!
Who wants five dollahs in gold and two ounces of delicious candy, all for the small sum of half a dollah?”