Again the crowd cheered. New faces were constantly appearing. The news had gone out with an incredible rapidity. Honest men, inflamed by the report, were leaving their works and speeding to the front from as far north as the fair-grounds and as far south as the depot.
"Soon," said Potts, after the first drink, "ah, too soon, I shall be miles away from your thriving little hamlet,—as pretty a spot, by the way, as God ever made,—seeing none but strange faces, longing for the old hearty hand-clasps, seeking, perhaps, in vain, for one kindly look which—which is now to be observed on every hand. But, friends, Colonel J. Rodney will not forget you. I have rare prospects, but no matter. To this little spot, the fairest in all Nature,—here among your simple, heartfelt faces, where I first got my start,—here my feelings will ever and anon return; for—why should I conceal it?—it is you, my friends, who have made me the man I am."
Here Potts put an arm over the shoulder of Big Joe and urged pleadingly: "Another verse of that sweet old song, boys. I tell you that has the true heart-stuff in it—now—"
They roared out a verse of "Auld Lang Syne," with execrable attempts at part-singing, little Dan Lefferts, a dissolute house-painter, contributing a tenor that was simply maniacal.
Potts ordered more drinks. This done, he leaned heavily upon the bar and burst into tears. The
