Round the next corner Adam Foust waited. He was clad in his gray uniform—those who looked at him closely saw with astonishment that it was a new uniform; his brows met in a frown, his gray moustache seemed to bristle.
“How he hates them!” said one citizen of Fosterville to another. “Just look at poor Adam!”
“Used to bait his hook for him,” Adam was saying. “Used to carry him pick-a-back! Used to go halves with him on everything. Now he walks with Ed Green!”
Adam pressed forward to the curb. The band was playing “Marching Through Georgia,” which he hated; everybody was cheering. The volume of sound was deafening.
“Cheering Ed Green!” said Adam. “Fat! Lazy! Didn’t have a wound. Dare say he hid behind a tree! Dare say——”
The band was in sight now, the back of the drum-major appeared, then all the musicians swung round the corner. After them came the little children with their flowers and their shining faces.
“Him and Ed Green next,” said old Adam.
But Henry walked alone. Adam’s whole body jerked in his astonishment. He heard some one say that Edward Green was sick, that the doctor had forbidden him to march, or even to ride. As he pressed nearer the curb he heard the admiring comments of the crowd.
“Isn’t he magnificent!”
“See his beautiful flowers! His grandchildren always send him his flowers.”