II-I

In the clear glow of a lengthening twilight of
spring Gordon Makimmon sauntered into Simmons'
store. The high, dusty windows facing
the Courthouse were raised, and a warm air drifted
in, faint eddies of the fragrance of flowering bushes,
languorous draughts of a countryside newly green.

A number of men idling over a counter greeted
him with a familiar and instantly alert curiosity.
The clerk behind the counter bent forward with
the brisk assumption of a business-like air. "Certainly,"
Gordon replied to his query, pausing to
allow his purpose to gain its full effect; "I want to
order a suit of clothes."

"Why, damn it t'ell, Gord!" exclaimed an individual,
with a long, drooping nose, a jaw which hung
loosely on a corded, bare throat; "it ain't three weeks
ago but you got a suit, and it ain't the one you have
on now, neither."

"Shut up, Tol'able," Buckley Simmons interposed,
"you'll hurt trade. Gordon's the Dandy
Dick of Greenstream."

"Haven't I a right to as many suits of clothes

[[149]]

p148 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p149w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p150

v?