He dashed straight across the street, and under the shadow of the big elm intercepted the long and short couple. There was a parley in which the girls two or three times started to walk away, a further parley in which they consented to stand still, a loud male guffaw mingled with a succession of shrill giggles, then suddenly the grocery salesman called: "Come on, Billy!" The dry-goods man half rose from his chair and hesitated. "Come on, Billy!" again invited the grocery drummer. "We're going down to wade in the creek." A particularly high-pitched set of giggles followed this tremendous joke, and Billy, his timid scruples finally overcome, went across the street, a ridiculous figure with his ancient body and his youthful clothes. Nevertheless, Wallingford felt just a trifle lonesome as he watched his traveling companions of the afternoon go sauntering down the street in company which, if silly, was at least human. While he regretted Broadway, Bob Ranger, dressed no whit different from his attire of the afternoon, except that his sleeves were rolled down, came out of the hotel and stood for an undecided moment in front of the door. "Hello, Bob!" hailed Wallingford cordially, glad to see any face he knew. "Do you smoke?" "Reckon I do," said Bob. "I was thinkin' just this minute of walkin' down to Bud Hegler's for some stogies." "Sit down and have a cigar," offered Wallingford, producing a companion to the one he was then enjoying. Bob took that cigar and smelled it; he measured its length, its weight, and felt its firmness. "It ain't got any band on it, but I reckon that's a straight ten-center," he opined. "I'll buy all you can get me of that brand for a quarter apiece," offered Wallingford. "So?" said Bob, looking at it doubtfully. "I reckon I'd better save this for Sunday." "No, smoke it now. I'll give you another one for Sunday," promised Wallingford, and he lit a match, whereupon Bob, biting the end off the cigar with his strong, white teeth, moistened it all over with his tongue to keep the curl of the wrapper down. With vast gratification he sat down to enjoy that awe-inspiring cigar, and, by way of being entertaining, uttered comment upon the passing parade--frank, ingeniously told bits of personal history which would have been startling to one who had imbibed the conventional idea that all country folk are without guile. Wallingford was not so much shocked by these revelations, however, as he might have been, for he had himself been raised in a country town, though one not so small as Blakeville. It was while Bob was in the midst of this more or less profane history that Molly and Fannie Bubble came out of the gate. "Come here, Molly," invited Bob; "I want to introduce you to a friend of mine. He's going to stop here quite a long time. Mr. Wallingford--Molly; Miss Bubble--Mr. Wallingford. Come on; let's all take a walk," and confidently taking Molly's arm he started up the crossing, leaving Miss Bubble to Wallingford.