A touch of realism was added to the day's program by the funeral of Captain Elias Roy, a past-Commander of the G. A. R. The captain had died the week before, but the body had been held over for burial on Memorial Day; and Colonel Smythe had kindly consented to say a few words at the grave.
The weather fitted the occasion admirably. Gray clouds hung low obscuring the sun and imparting a dreary chill to the atmosphere. Nature herself seemed to have put on mourning.
As usual, it fell to the lot of Mr. Cane to entertain the guest of honor, but as the colonel was to come in the morning and depart in the evening this was not regarded as an onerous duty.
When the colonel stepped from the morning train in the wake of a white-jacketed pullman porter, he was an impressive sight. His glossy silk hat was flawless; his Prince Albert, molded after the latest whim, showed the sought-after sweeping lines; taken altogether he resembled rather an advertisement for ready-to-wear clothes than a fence-mending congressman.
A citizens' committee took him nervously to its official bosom and led him down the platform to two "hacks" the tops of which had been folded back for the dual purpose of affording the colonel a better view of the town, and giving the populace a better view of the colonel. Several persons had volunteered to transport the official party around town in their automobiles, but the committee had declined with thanks, considering that carriages were more dignified and also more deliberate. An automobile would have exhausted the sights of Tyre in about ten minutes, whereas the committee was planning to devote in the neighborhood of two hours of carriage-riding to that delightful task. But Colonel Smythe pleaded fatigue and the necessity of reposeful preparation for the exertions of the afternoon.
He was accordingly taken directly to the home of his host. A few moments later he was stretched at length on the uncompromising bed in the guest chamber, quite unmindful of Mrs. Cane's best lace bedspread, his eyes closed, his mind at rest, his body totally relaxed. How deliciously quiet it was! Even the birds had ceased their springtime chatter. Sleep seemed about to overcome him when he became dimly conscious of a distant throbbing sound.
At first it was rather soothing than otherwise, but as it became louder it began to be annoying. It seemed to come at regular intervals. Throb—throb—throb-throb-throb! He could no longer escape the conviction that it was a distant drumbeat. After a little he could no longer escape the conviction that it was not so distant. Then the piping of fifes could be heard. No tune could be detected, but still it was not a sound that would have been regarded as sleep-inducing.
Mr. and Mrs. Cane were nowhere about. Having the carriage at their disposal for the day they had gone for a little drive in the country. When they drew up before the house an hour later they were very much surprised to see their guest striding up and down the long veranda, his hands clasped behind his back beneath the skirts of his coat, his tall hat on the back of his noble head, and a fat cigar in the corner of his mouth.
"Couldn't seem to rest ... mind too active, I suppose ... thinking up a little something to say this afternoon ... brain works best when my feet are in motion," were a few of the fragments they caught as he strode back and forth.
Mrs. Cane expressed mild surprise. "Couldn't sleep!" she said. "It's so lovely and quiet—I don't see how you could fail to catch a few winks. Our other advantages sometimes fail us, but we can always rely on peace and quietude here in the country."