When Bart reached the grove, someone was making an address, and he piloted his way circumspectly up to the side of the platform where the speaking was going on.
He deposited the freezers inside the bunting-decorated inclosure, where half a dozen young ladies were posted to dispense the refreshments after the literary programme was finished.
Bart started to return with his empty cart the way he had come, but about ten feet from the platform paused for a moment to take in the exceptionally flowery sentiment that was being enunciated by the speaker of the day.
Colonel Harrington, it seemed, was the self-appointed hero of the occasion. The great man of the village was in his element—the eyes and ears of all Pleasantville fixed upon him.
In rolling tones and with magnificent gestures he was paying a lofty tribute to the immortal Stars and Stripes waving just over his head, when, his eyes lowering, they focused straight in a fixed stare on Bart.
The colonel gave the young express agent an awful look, and in an instant Bart knew that the military man had been informed of the identity of the audacious cannoneer of the evening previous.
Like some orators, the colonel, once disturbed by an extraneous contemplation, lost his voice, cue and self-possession all in a second.
It seemed as if he could not take his eyes from the innocent and embarrassed author of his distraction.
He spluttered, the rounded sentence on his lips died down to measly insignificance, he stammered, stumbled, and sat down with a red face, his eyes darting rage at poor Bart.
Some of the boys in the crowd "caught on" to the situation, and giggled and made significant remarks, but the chairman on the platform covered the colonel's confusion by announcing the national anthem, and Bart effected his escape.