Teeters wrapped the lines around the brake and descended leisurely.
“Set on their heads, Old Timers”—to the volunteers who were endeavoring to disentangle the struggling horses—and shook hands with Disston.
“This is Mrs. Rathburn and Miss Rathburn, Clarence—”
Mr. Teeters bowed profoundly, and as he removed his hat his bang fell in his eyes, so that he looked like a performing Shetland pony.
“Much obliged to meet you, ladies,” deferentially. Then to Disston, darkly:
“I’ll take that from you onct, or twict, maybe,—but if you call me Clarence three times I’ll cut your heart out.”
Disston grinned understandingly.
Toomey was among those who went to the Prouty House to look at the “bunch of millionaires” waiting on the veranda, and his surprise equalled Teeters’ at seeing Disston.
“Say, Hughie—I got a deal on that’s a pippin—a pippin. There isn’t a flaw in it!” said Toomey confidentially.
“Glad to hear it, Jap,” Disston replied cordially, and presented him to Mrs. Rathburn and her daughter.