A rattling old carryall, drawn by one knobby yellow horse and driven by a decrepit patriarch of sixty, stopped with a groan and a creak and a final rattle at the door of the weather-beaten Atlas Hotel, and a grocery "drummer," a beardless youth with pink cheeks, jumped hastily out and rushed into the clean but bare little office, followed as hastily by a grizzled veteran of the road who sold dry-goods and notions and wore gaudy young clothes. Wallingford emerged much more slowly, as became his ponderous size. He was dressed in a green summer suit of ineffable fabric, wore green low shoes, green silk hose, a green felt hat, and a green bow tie, below which, in the bosom of his green silk negligee shirt, glowed a huge diamond. Richness and bigness were the very essence of him, and the aged driver, recognizing true worth when he saw it, gave a jerk at his dust-crusted old cap as he addressed him. "'Tain't no use to hurry now," he quavered. "Them other two'll have the good rooms." J. Rufus, from natural impulse, followed in immediately. There was no one behind the little counter, but the young grocery drummer, having hastily inspected the sparse entries of the preceding days, had registered himself for room two. "There ain't a single transient in the house, Billy," he said, turning to the dry-goods and notion salesman, "so I'll just put you down for number three." A buxom young woman came out of the adjoining dining-room, wiping her red hands and arms upon a water-spattered gingham apron. "Three of us, Molly," said the older salesman. "Hustle up the dinner," and out of pure friendliness he started to chuck her under the chin, whereat she wheeled and slapped him a resounding whack and ran away laughing. This vigorous retort, being entirely expected, was passed without comment, and the two commercial travelers took off their coats to "wash up" at the tin basins in the corner. The aged driver, intercepting them to collect, came in to Wallingford, who, noting the custom, had already subscribed his name with a flourish upon the register. "Two shillin'," quavered the ancient one at his elbow. Wallingford gave him twice the amount he asked for, and the old man was galvanized into instant fluttering activity. He darted out of the door with surprising agility, and returned with two pieces of Wallingford's bright and shining luggage, which he surveyed reverently as he placed them in front of the counter. Two more pieces, equally rich, he brought, and on the third trip the proprietor's son, a brawny boy of fifteen, clad in hickory shirt, blue overalls and plow shoes, and with his sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, helped him in with Wallingford's big sole-leather dresser trunk. "Gee!" said the boy to Wallingford, beaming upon this array of expensive baggage. "What do you sell?" "White elephants, son," replied Wallingford, so gravely that the boy took two minutes to decide that the rich stranger was "fresh."