So Catty went to work and told us about what he thought ought to be done and how to go about it. He had it all thought out and anybody could see right off that it was a corking good scheme. We talked it over and over and over, and there was suggestions and improvements made, too, but the main scheme was Catty’s.
When we were done there wasn’t anything to do but to wait for the demonstration.
Next day—a Thursday—we heard the demonstration was to be held on Saturday afternoon, and the place was to be the band-stand in the square. Kinderhook was having it all decorated up with flags and bunting, and he was going to have the band play and make a regular celebration of it. That made Catty and me laugh some, because he was going to get a different kind of a celebration from what he planned.
We could hardly wait for the day to come around, but after a while it got there. Folks are always interested in any kind of a celebration, especial if the band’s going to play, and the farmers began driving in from miles around and hitching their automobiles to all the hitching-posts in town. It was ’most like a Fourth of July. The real show was set for two o’clock in the afternoon, but there was quite a lot going on all the morning, and we didn’t miss any of it, you can bet. Catty and I had a lunch fixed up and we ate it together under the trees, but right after lunch we went to Atkins & Phillips’s to see Catty’s Dad. Jack was sort of standing around in the store, but Mr. Atkins wasn’t in sight.
“Where’s Dad?” says Catty.
“Back in the bedroom,” says Jack. “Combing his hair, I guess.”
“I’m goin’ to look him over,” says Catty.
“I wouldn’t go in there, if I were you,” says Jack.
“Why?”
“Well, I just wouldn’t. I sort of guess your father would rather you waited till he came out.”