Paradise is busy fixing up floats and decorations, and we’re asked a lot of questions that we don’t dare to answer.
“Who is going to lead the pe-rade?” whispers Doughgod to me, and I whispers back—
“I am.”
He toilers me for a distance, and whispers once more—
“Hen, who is going to be Miss Columbus?” I answers—
“The widder Saunders.”
“Hank told me that my niece, Maggie was going to be her.”
“Hank’s a liar,” says I, and Doughgod nods, and walks away.
I’m over at the rack, cinching up my saddle, when here comes Dug Chaffin.
“Henry, I’m looking for information that I can’t seem to get from any of your cohorts. Who is due to be Miss Columbus tomorrow?”