I enjoyed a day of recreation, so did my donkey and dog, and in the evening delivered a lecture on my travels before a campaign league at its club house.
On Friday morning I started for the town of Marion, twenty-six miles away. Many citizens of Galion assembled to see us off. Mac and Don were impatient for the journey, and amused the crowd by pulling each other's whiskers. I had boasted of having trained Mac A'Rony to follow me. When I set out with a wave of my hat and a beckon to my partner, he responded promptly, and for some distance verified my boasts. He never before had acted so tractable. Suddenly, a cheer sounded in the distance, and, turning, I beheld that asinine rascal making back to town on a hop-skip-and-jump. How the crowd did yell! It was a circus for them. Mac certainly had rested too long and eaten too many oats. The only time I got ahead of him was when I photographed him. I did not upbraid him, but when I readjusted my scattered belongings and whirled the whip over his head, he moved forward with utmost humility.
At Caledonia, I took advantage of the farmers' market day and sold a large number of photos at a good price. I could not appear anywhere on the street without some rural stranger stopping me to shake hands and purchase a chromo. Saturday evening I lectured to a crowded house.
It was 4:30 P. M. Sunday before I started to Kenton, twenty-seven miles beyond. When nearly there, I passed a small farm whose rural incumbent came to the fence to question me.
"Goin' ter show to-night?" he inquired.
"Nope," I answered, and kept Mac A'Rony moving.
"Hold a minute!—Be ye travelin' er goin' somewhere?" the man persisted, as he leaned over the fence-rail. He interested me.
"When you see people walking," I returned, bringing my donkey to halt, "you can take it for granted, they are going somewhere."
The lonesome-looking farmer was the first I had met who was neither busy at work nor whittling. Gray locks fell wantonly over his ears. His faded coat, blue overalls and felt boots exhibited signs of a persistent conflict with farm implements, hooking cows, kicking horses, and a rich clayey soil. A cow and two hogs eyed my donkey and dog with contempt through the bars of the barnyard fence. I observed that all the buildings, including the house, were of logs. The man, judging from his property, didn't have a dollar in the world, but had great expectations. He asked if I had any books to sell. I had one, a copy of a volume I had published, several of which I had sold on my journey at a good price. I had lost fifteen valuable minutes talking with the man, and resolved to get even. While wondering what I could take in exchange for the book, a hen cackled.
"Certainly. I have a book to sell," I said.