“Thanks, old fellow!” I called, above the roar of the traffic.
My train was announced, and as I gripped my suit-case, Thropper blurted out:
“Well, Priddy, I wish you luck: plenty of it!”
“Well,” I stammered, in return, “you’ve certainly been good to me, Thropper. I shall never forget it!”
“I shall miss you, Priddy!”
“Maybe I shan’t miss you, old fellow!” I said hoarsely, for I was on the verge of tears.
“God bless you!” cried Thropper, with an effort. “God be with you!”
“Make a man of yourself, old fellow!” I replied.
One moment of profound, tearful silence, with our hands tightly clasped, and then I broke away and ran as fast as I could towards my train, pretending by that action that I might be in danger of losing my train, though my only intention was to be by myself, where, unseen, I could baptize this parting from Thropper with unrestrained, heartfelt tears.
The brick-paved and marvellously wide streets of Indianapolis were oppressively hot when I arrived in the city, with Gloomer’s letter of introduction to the sales-stable manager in my possession. I had to spend two days in the city before a regular auction day arrived when it would be possible for me to make a contract with the manager. I had been told that the psychological time to approach the horse-dealer would be at a sale when a carload or two of horses would be made up.