"That feller made 'em see the man."
Here was thought for reflection.
A moment later Buck Thompson took up a bottle, threw back his head and raised it to his lips, saying as he did so, "I'm glad he didn't say nothin' about Ann Rutledge."
"Ann Rutledge!" exclaimed Ole Bar. "Idiot! Fool! He didn't mention nothin' else."
ON THE WAY
It was an October afternoon.
The first frosts had fallen, and where, a few short days before, the goldenrod had shed its autumn glory, it now stood sere and earth-bent. The late asters had lost their color and the wind-blown tendrils of summer vines were but stiff spirals, clinging to the sumacs like skeletons of their former graceful selves.