Regnan had a district where he bought and sold. He was regular, honest, and good-natured; and therefore popular. His "rag-cry" was his own. It always brought trade. It ran something like this: "R-a-g-s, rags, rags, r-a-g-s! Any r-a-g-s, o-l-d iron? Come up, Posey! R-a-g-s, old iron!" This cry had brought a little fortune. As this was his anniversary he thought he would not buy any rags, but deal in other things.
A newly married man, whose wife had made kindling wood of the furniture, sold Regnan a cooking stove. "Beware of the first wedding day," said the man. Regnan thought him unwise, and drove on. He knew of another newly married couple who were living in hopes of many anniversaries. To these he would sell the stove. He could fancy the good wife cooking pancakes for her husband. Ere he could reach them he exchanged the stove for a sofa. "All good wives need rest," said he. "The sofa will therefore serve as well as the stove. I can see the good man and his wife resting upon it now."
Later in the afternoon an old friend stopped Regnan.
"Now, listen," said he, "to an anniversary march. While I play you think of the days agone." The friend played, and the tears stole down Regnan's cheeks.
"How much for the fiddle?" asked Regnan. "Take the fiddle for the sofa." The exchange was made. "The newly married couple are loving and patient. They can wait," said Regnan. "I will stop here and get my beaver hat, white vest, and swallow-tailed coat." He went into the tailor's shop and got them. He had had them cleaned for the anniversary.
Regnan was now very tired. He had been in the hot sun all day. He had had nothing to eat since morning. Besides, the malaria made him drowsy.
So he stopped under a tree to rest. The clothes and fiddle were tempting. He spread the coat upon some newspapers in the wagon and put the vest in the proper place. He then placed the beaver at the head. "Kitty," said he, as though she was present, "look at your husband." He became more and more drowsy. He played. He nodded and closed his eyes. He stopped playing with his fingers on the bow and the bow on the strings.
Several boys were watching Regnan. They thought it would be nice to put the vest, coat, and hat on the biggest boy and dance around him while Regnan "played in his dreams." It was done. The boy so dressed stood in a clear place and held out the tails of the coat. The others circled around him.
In every neighborhood there are at least two factions among the boys. Fight is born in a boy. Letting it out occasionally will help to tame him. It was so in this case. It happened that the opposing faction had business that way. When they saw what was going on, they cried: "Fun, boys, fun!" A dozen pebbles fell among the dancers, who fled from the attack, and the fun began. The beaver hat and swallow-tailed coat were kept in the lead. The opposing faction followed, threw pebbles, and laughed.
Regnan awoke and began to play. "There must be fun in it," said he. "That reminds me of my young days." He looked into the wagon. The playing was cut short. He looked at the boys again. The beaver hat and swallow-tailed coat were kept in the lead. He called a spectator and paid him to take Posey and the wagon home. With fiddle in hand and thoughts on anniversary he followed the boys. The opposing faction stopped and scattered. It was growing dark. Regnan caught one of the boys and began to scold him.