“Ah, I thought you’d come around, son!”
And once more Colonel Carson complacently tugged at his goatee.
CHAPTER XXIX.
A THOUSAND DOLLARS IN CASH.
With eight dollars in his pocket, after purchasing his railroad ticket, Bully Carson climbed aboard the express.
He did not go into a Pullman, for that would cost more money. Instead, he sauntered up to the smoking car, rolling a cigarette as he went. For this occasion he had abandoned his “swellest” clothes, being simply clad in a black-and-white, shiny-buttoned suit that shrieked aloud, a plain orange-and-white necktie, and a pair of patent-leather shoes with green uppers. Bully desired to avoid all prominence during his stay in Fardale, and so had picked out his meekest raiment for the trip.
He found the smoking car fairly well filled, and with his mind still occupied with the subject of raising some money with which to bet for himself, he dropped into a seat beside a small, dried-up little man.
Now, there are many people who gauge other people’s importance by their clothes, and who do so without any regard for taste. Ezra Hostetter had run a laundry all his life, and he was the simplest-hearted person that ever ironed a collar. Being of extremely dull taste as regarded his own attire, he entertained an unlimited admiration for those fortunate men who could afford and carry off gorgeous apparel with perfect ease.
Consequently, he directed one startled glance at Bully’s glorious harmony of colors, and was lost. With honest longing stamped on his face, he directed sly but highly admiring side looks that feasted on everything from the green-topped shoes to the scarlet-and-blue hatband incasing Bully’s purple felt hat.
To be sure, the eye patch slightly detracted from Bully’s appearance. Ezra Hostetter began to swell with importance at sitting next this ornate personage. Possibly it was a prize fighter, or, at the very least, a follower of sports!