“What’s this for!” said the stranger.
“Them’s our tickets. Ain’t you the door keeper?”
“No, but there ought to be one to every circus. You’ll have one when you get to Raleigh.”
The landlady, Mrs. Duke, apologised for the poor beds, when she showed them to their room. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, I can’t give you softer beds.”
“That’s all right M’am! them’s fine. Us fellows been sleeping in the woods and in straw stacks so long dodgin’ ole Vance’s officers, them white sheets is the finest thing we’ve seed in four years, er more.”
They were humble and made no complaints. But at the end of the week they gathered around the Rev. Ezra Perkins for a grave consultation.
“When are we goin’ ter draw?” said one.
“Air we ever goin’ ter draw?” asked another with sorrow and doubt.
“What are we here fer ef we cain’t draw?” pleaded another looking sadly at Ezra.
“Gentlemen,” answered Ezra, “it will be all right in a little while. The Treasurer is just cranky. We can draw our mileage Monday anyhow.”