"Good! Put him where he can have a view out of the window of his first teacher at work in the studio of the universe."
The train crept on toward the hour of the Eternal Painter's riot and toward Little Rivers, while the patch of green was softly, impalpably growing, growing, until the crisscross breaks of the streets developed and Jack could identify the Doge's and other bungalows. He was on the platform of the car before the brakes ground on the wheels, leaning out to see a crowd at the station, which a minute later became a prospect of familiar, kindly, beaming faces. There was a roar of "Hello, Jack!" in the heavy voices of men and the treble of children. Then he did not see the faces at all for a second; he saw only mist.
"Not tanned, Jack, but you'll brown up soon!"
"Gosh! But we've been lonesome without you!"
"Cure any case of sore eyes on record!"
Jack was too full of the glory of this unaffected welcome in answer to his telegram that he was coming to find words at first; but as he fairly dropped off the steps into the arms of Jim Galway and Dr. Patterson he shouted in a shaking voice:
"Hello, everybody! Hello, Little Rivers!"
He noted, while all were trying to grasp his hands at once, that the men had their six-shooters. A half-dozen were struggling to get his suit case. Not one of his friends was missing except the Doge and Mary.
"Let the patient have a little air!" protested Dr. Patterson, as some started in to shake hands a second time.
"Fellow-citizens, if there's anything in the direct primary I feel sure of the nomination!" said Jack drily.