“Anything for the good of the old town,” said the obliging Colonel, as they exchanged overcoats.
In a moment each had put on his new coat.
“Here, I don't want your gloves,” said Buckstone, as he drew them out of a side pocket.
I observed that Smead had been feeling the contents of his coat.
“Keep them,” said he. “You shall have all that my coat contained, and I shall claim all that was in yours.”
The train entered the depot at St. Johnstown.
The Colonel and his new secretary followed the crowd to the station platform. Giles, in big boots and patched and threadbare garments, his big beaver hat resting on his ears, with the Colonel's bag in one hand while the other held his gold-headed cane and the leash of the lank and wistful hound, was an epic figure.
