Down over the hard face that had cynically fronted the world for twenty years from the barker’s rostrum, into the trailing whiskers filtered the tears. This middle-aged, solid, lawyer brother had not as yet assumed his proper perspective in the mind of his elder brother, who had left him a stripling. Hiram did not try to hide his grief from those who stared at him.
“Ain’t I a specimen!” he whimpered.
“I think you are beginnin’ to improve some,” said Uncle Buck, bluntly.
“Your wife won’t want to see me,” moaned Hiram. “I ain’t fit to meet her.”
The crowd laughed anew, for this seemed the best joke of all. The lawyer smiled, but it was a wistful smile.
“I’m the pickedest old bach in town, so set that I even do my own cooking, Hime,” he said. “It is all about the same as it used to be at the old place. There’s plenty of room in the barn for all this,” he nodded toward the waggons, “and plenty to eat for us all—I guess,” he added, with a facetious look at the elephant, and that started the laugh again.
Hiram turned to the crowd as though to address them, but he clutched at his throat, shook his head pathetically, and stumbled toward the big waggon.
“You ain’t the worst feller in the world, Hime,” called a voice encouragingly. ’Twas Marriner Amazeen’s. “But you can’t sass us here in P’lermo any more’n you useter could.”
There was a general mumble, in a more hospitable tone, for the prodigal’s evident contrition had touched them. He threw up his hand and again shook his head despondently.
“It’s a blamed queer outfit to haul into any man’s door-yard, Phin,” he said at last, with wistful apology, as he noticed his brother looking at the elephant with no very eager enthusiasm; “but I’ll fix it right with you.”