Next day—a Thursday—we heard the demonstration was to be held on Saturday afternoon, and the place was to be the band-stand in the square. Kinderhook was having it all decorated up with flags and bunting, and he was going to have the band play and make a regular celebration of it. That made Catty and me laugh some, because he was going to get a different kind of a celebration from what he planned. We could hardly wait for the day to come around, but after a while it got there. Folks are always interested in any kind of a celebration, especial if the band’s going to play, and the farmers began driving in from miles around and hitching their automobiles to all the hitching-posts in town. It was ’most like a Fourth of July. The real show was set for two o’clock in the afternoon, but there was quite a lot going on all the morning, and we didn’t miss any of it, you can bet. Catty and I had a lunch fixed up and we ate it together under the trees, but right after lunch we went to Atkins & Phillips’s to see Catty’s Dad. Jack was sort of standing around in the store, but Mr. Atkins wasn’t in sight. “Where’s Dad?” says Catty. “Back in the bedroom,” says Jack. “Combing his hair, I guess.” “I’m goin’ to look him over,” says Catty. “I wouldn’t go in there, if I were you,” says Jack. “Why?” “Well, I just wouldn’t. I sort of guess your father would rather you waited till he came out.” Catty looked worried, because he figured maybe his father had got frightened or something, and, anyhow, Catty was the kind that had to oversee things. If he was in anything he had to see to it personal that it went off all right, and if he didn’t have his fingers on everything that was mixed up with it he sort of worried for fear it would go wrong. But he wouldn’t have hurt his father’s feelings for a lot, and if he thought his father didn’t want him to go into the bedroom, he wouldn’t have gone if there never was any celebration, and if Mr. Atkins never did what it was planned for him to do. We didn’t have more than ten minutes to wait, though, and then the door opened and we turned around. I thought I’d swaller my tongue. There was a man standing in the door that looked kind of familiar in a few spots, like his nose, but that didn’t look like anybody I ever seen before in any other spot. He was smooth-faced, without a whisker or a mustache or anything, and he was kind of handsome, too. Yes, sir, he was a mighty fine-looking man, with one of those kind of slender faces that look like the man that has them has got brains, too, and maybe is _somebody_. You know what I mean. You wouldn’t be surprised to hear he was anything. And he looked young. Why, this man looked younger than my Dad, and my Dad don’t look hardly old enough to be out of college. Come to find out, this man wasn’t forty yet. That’s the truth, and I always sort of thought he was maybe fifty.