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A Stop-Over At Tyre
by
He broke off to comb his hair, a very nice bit of work in his case.
II
There was no discernible reason why the little town should have been called Tyre, and yet its name was as characteristically American as its architecture. It had the usual main street lined with low brick or wooden stores–a street which developed into a road running back up a wide, sandy valley away from the river. Being a county town, it had a court-house in a yard near the centre of the town, and a big summer hotel. Curiously shaped and oddly distributed hills rose abruptly out of the valley sand, forming a sort of amphitheatre in which the village lay. These square-topped hills ended at a common level, showing that they were not the result of an upheaval, but were the remains of the original stratification formations left standing after the scooping action of the post-glacial floods had ceased.
Some of them looked like ruined walls of castles ancient as hills, on whose massive tops time had sown sturdy oaks and cedars. They lent a distinct air of romance to the landscape at all times; but when in summer graceful vines clambered over their rugged sides, and underbrush softened their broken lines, it was not at all difficult to imagine them the remains of an unrecorded and very war-like people.
Even now, in winter, with yellow-brown and green cedars standing starkly upon their summits, these towers possessed a distinct charm, and in the early morning when the trees glistened with frost, or at evening when the white light of the sun was softened and violet shadows lay along the snow, the whole valley was a delight to the eye, full of distinct and lasting charm.
In the campaign which Hartley began, Albert did his best, and his best was done unconsciously; for the simplicity of his manner–all unknown to himself–was the most potent factor in securing consideration.
“I’m not a book agent,” he said to one of the clergymen to whom he first appealed; “I’m a student trying to sell a good book and make a little money to help me to complete my course at the university.”
In this way he secured three clergymen to head the list, much to the delight and admiration of Hartley.
“Good! Now corral the alumni of the place. Work the fraternal racket to the bitter end. Oh, say! there’s a sociable to-morrow night; I guess we’d better go, hadn’t we?”
“Go alone?”
“Alone? No! Take some girls. I’m going to take neighbor Pickett’s daughter; she’s homely as a hedge fence, but I’ll take her for business reasons.”
“Hartley, you’re an infernal fraud!”
“Nothing of the kind–I’m a salesman,” ended Hartley, with a laugh.
After supper the following day, as Albert was still lingering at the table with the girls and Mrs. Welsh, he said to Maud:
“Are you going to the sociable?”
“No; I guess not.”
“Would you go if I asked you?”
“Try me and see!” answered the girl, with a laugh, her color rising.
“All right. Miss Welsh, will you attend the festivity of the evening under my guidance and protection?”
“Yes, thank you; but I must wash the dishes first.”
“I’ll wash the dishes; you go get ready,” said Mrs. Welsh.
Albert felt that he had one of the loveliest girls in the room as he led Maud down the floor of the vestry of the church. Her cheeks were glowing, and her eyes shining with maidenly delight as they took seats at the table to sip a little coffee and nibble a bit of cake.
Maud introduced him to a number of young people who had been students at the university. They received him cordially, and in a very short time he was enjoying himself very well indeed. He was reminded rather disagreeably of his office, however, by seeing Hartley surrounded by a laughing crowd of the more frolicsome young people. He winked at Albert, as much as to say, “Good stroke of business.”