The band arrived and met with universal satisfaction, though Lafe Atwell complained that he hadn't ever see a snare drummer with whiskers. But their coats were red, with gorgeous frogs, and their trousers were sky blue, with gold stripes, and the drum major could whirl his baton in a manner every boy in town would be imitating with the handle of the ancestral broom for months to come.... Through it all Scattergood Baines sat on the piazza and beamed upon the world, and rejoiced in the goodness thereof.
Only one resident took no part in the holiday making, and that was Old Man Newton, who had closed his house, drawn the blinds, and refused to make himself visible while the celebration lasted. He took a savage pleasure in thus making himself conspicuous, knowing well how his conduct would be discussed, and viewing himself as a righteous man suffering for the sins of another.
In the darkness of the evening street Mattie Strong accosted Scattergood that evening, clinging to his arm tremulously.
"Mr. Baines," she whispered, affrightedly, "he's come!"
"Who's come?"
"Mavin Newton—he's here, in town."
Scattergood frowned. "See him?"
"Hain't seen him, but he's here. I kin feel him. I knowed it the minute he come."
"Calc'late I've seen everybody here, and I hain't seen him."
"He's here, jest the same. I'm a-lookin' fer him. Whatever name he come under, or however he looks, I'll know him. I couldn't make no mistake about Mavin."