“It looks like his rig, though,” assented Cap. “But it’s painted a different color. I wonder—?”
“Hark!” cautioned his brother.
They were close to the throng of students now, but could only see the top of the wagon, which was a covered one. A voice could be heard droning away like this:
“Young gentlemen, it is one of the greatest pleasures of my life to speak to students—to persons of learning, in which class I am so fortunate as to count myself, though in an humble capacity. Learning, I may say, extends even to the noble steed which draws my equipage, whose cognomen is, I may say derived from—”
“That’s all right, old sport, what’s the horse called?” demanded one of the students, with a laugh.
“Yes, get down to business,” added another.
“Right you are, young gentlemen,” admitted the voice, though Bill and Cap could not yet see the speaker. They observed their brother Pete beckoning frantically to them, and they increased their pace. “Right you are,” resumed the owner of the covered wagon. “The name of my noble animal is Pactolus, called after, I need not remind you—”
“The river of Lydia in which the King Midas washed himself one Saturday night, so that he put the golden touch on everything,” interrupted one of the classical students, and there was a laugh, but it did not disconcert the traveling vendor, for such Bill and Cap now knew him to be.
“Exactly,” he admitted. “The river whence ever after the visit of the king, the sands became golden. Thus I named my horse Pactolus in the hope that some day he might stumble into a river which, if it did not turn him to gold might at least make him a steed of silver.
“But, young gentlemen of Westfield, which I understand is the name of the school in the distance, I did not attract you hither by the magic of my voice and playing to talk to you on classical subjects. This is a practical world, and we who live in it must also be practical. Whoa, there, Pactolus!” This as his steed showed signs of restiveness, due to the fact that some of the boys were tickling his ears.