It was a morning of ominous calm, with an hour of bright sun, gradually softening into a white shadow, as a fleecy cloud of fairy whiteness rolled over the sun's face, giving a light on the earth like the garish light in a tent at high noon, a light of blinding whiteness that hurts the eyes, although the sun is hidden. It was as innocent a looking morning as any one would wish to see, still, warm, bright, with a heavy brooding air which deadens sound and makes sleighs draw hard and horses come out in foam.
James Crocks, of the Horse Repository, sniffed the air apprehensively, bit a semi-circle out of a plug of tobacco, and gave orders that no horse was to leave the barn that day, for "he might be mistaken, and he might not," but he thought "we were in for it."
Other people seemed to think the same, for no teams could be seen on any of the roads leading to the village. It was the kind of morning on which the old timers say, "Stay where you are, wherever it is—if there's a roof over you!"
Wakening from a troubled dream of fighting gophers that turned to wild-cats, Mr. Neelands, in No. 17, made a hurried toilet, on account of the temperature of the room, for although the morning was warm, No. 17 still retained some of last week's temperature, and to Mr. Neelands, accustomed to the steam heat of Mrs. Marlowe's "Select Boarding House—young men a specialty"—it felt very chilly, indeed. But Mr. Neelands had his mind made up to be unmoved by trifles.
After a good breakfast in the dining room, Mr. Neelands walked out to see the little town—and to see what information he could gather. The well-dressed young man, with the pale gray spats, who carried a cane on his arm and wore a belted coat, attracted many eyes as he swung out gaily across the street toward the livery stable.
His plans were still indefinite. Bertie, who was in charge of the stable, gazed spell-bound on the vision of fashion which stood at the door, asking about a team. Bertie, for once, was speechless—he seemed to be gazing on his own better self—the vision he would like to see when he sought his mirror.
"I would like to get a team for a short run," said Mr. Neelands politely.
"Where you goin'," asked Bertie.
Mr. Neelands hesitated, and became tactful.
"I am calling on teachers," he said, on a matter of business, "introducing a new set of books for school libraries."