THE express from Columbia was due.
It was almost nine o'clock on Tuesday
night, the 31st of August, 1886. It
had been a hot day, sultry toward night,
and the loungers at the Summerville
station were divided between pitying
and envying their neighbors on the excursion
train. In such weather, home
seems either the most intolerable or the
most comfortable place in the world.
It had not rained for six weeks, and
South Carolina panted.
There was a larger crowd
than usual at the little station
to see the Columbia
excursionists come in. The
enterprise of the Summerville
merchant who placarded
the pine-trees of this
forest village with legends
to the effect that his ice-cream
would be found "Opp.
the depot," was well rewarded
that scorching night. The
streets thronged—if Summerville
streets can ever be
said to throng—with warm
and thirsty loungers of both sexes and
of every color. South Carolinians
though they were, they objected to the
heat of that day.
In the group at the station stood
a white boy, about ten years old,—a
neatly dressed, well-behaved little fellow,
with an expression of crushing
and delightful
responsibility.
He wandered
back and forth restlessly and proudly
from the track to a tree in the square,
where an old horse and wagon were
fastened with unnecessary security.
The boy tested the halter, and patted
the horse continually.
"IN THE GROUP AT THE STATION STOOD A WHITE BOY"
It was a very important thing to drive two miles in the dark for one's father and bring him home from the nine o'clock express. Add to this situation the excitement of an excursion, and Donny de Mone felt that life lacked nothing more to the position and the dignity of manhood. Besides, Donny was very fond of his father, and had not seen him for two weeks.
