I surely must be on the road to becoming somebody, with all these famous people taking such an interest in me. I remembered Emerson's dictum about waiting in one's own doorway long enough, and all the world would come by.
Was I to be disappointed? It did not seem credible that the great man would make a special stop-off on his way to the coast, just to pay me a visit.
One after another the passengers stepped down and walked and rode away. Then a little, boyish-looking man ... smooth-faced, bright-complexioned, jumped down, wavered toward me, dropping his baggage ... extended his hand ... both hands ... smiling with his eyes, that possessed long lashes like a girl's.
"Are you Johnnie Gregory?"
"Penton Baxter?" I asked reverently. He smiled in response and drew my arm through his.
"This is great, this is certainly great," he remarked, in a high voice, "and I'm more than glad that I stopped off to see you."
He expanded in the sun of my youthful hero-worship.
"Where's the best hotel in town?"
"The Bellman House ... but I've arranged with the Sig-Kappas to put you up."
"Are you a fraternity man?"