CHAPTER XXXII WE GO TO THE FAIR.

“HOW are we going over to the fair at Oakham?” asked Cherry, the evening before that event.

“I’ve provided for it,” said I.

“Not th’ ould scut?” said Ethel.

“Hardly. Let’s see, there are ten of us.”

“Twelve,” said Ethel, “or thirteen.”

“No, ten.”

“Twelve. Minerva and James are going and we’re to have lunch over there.”

“Five buggies, two in each,” said Sibthorp as unconsciously as he could.

“Fine,” said Hepburn and Billy in the same breath, and Cherry blushed rose red.

“Couldn’t get buggies, but I think you’ll all be pleased at the conveyance,” said I. “It’ll be quite a ride. Three hours there and three hours back.”

“Goodness,” said Cherry; “I thought it was only about seven miles away.”

“It might be 200 miles away if we took a special,” said Sibthorp suggestively.

“And only a few rods if we took snails,” said Tom and laughed uproariously.

“It’s something between snails and specials,” said I, but further than that I was sphynxlike.

Next morning was a crisp, smoke scented October morning, the air full of the snap of early fall, the landscape hinting at coming crimsons and yellows, the sky a clear blue, guiltless of clouds.

We rose early and while we were at breakfast we heard the lowing of cattle.

“Whose cow’s loose this morning?” asked Tom.

“That’s the voice of our steeds, if I’m not mistaken. Get your wraps and traps and come.”

Scowls of surprise were bent on me by all.

“Behold the chariot of Apollo and the horses thereof,” said I, and led the way to the front door, whither I was followed by all.

In front of the house stood a comfortable-looking hay wagon carpeted with straw and hitched to it were twelve oxen.

They were of all sorts and sizes, from a pair of huge white blanketed ones to two little black Holstein leaders; they were mottled, brown, mahogany and fawn color and the black Holsteins had gold leafed horns in honor of the occasion. At the side of this “string” stood Sam Goodman and his son.

“Are we going in that?”

“That we are going in,” said I proudly. “If we have luck we’ll get there inside of three hours. How far is it, Mr. Goodman?”

“Between six an’ seven miles. What d’yer think of the string? Prize winners?”

“They ought to be.”

“What does he do with so many cows?” said Cherry.

“Where—where did you come from, baby dear?” said Tom. “Those are called oxen in this part of the country. Not all yours are they?” turning to Sam.

“No, sir. Mine are the white blankets. But all Egerton cattle and we’ve taken fust prize for four years hand runnin’! Whoapp, Jerry! Whenever you’re ready I’m ready, Mr. Vernon.”

Which was local for “Please hurry up,” so I told our party to get aboard as soon as possible and we would start for the cattle show.

There is no better way of enjoying scenery than to go out riding behind a team of cattle. One has all the slowness obtainable by walking and yet one is riding, and can give his full attention to the beauties of either side of the road. To those who are not in too great a hurry I commend this form of locomotion!

At last we were ready, and after we were all seated James helped the giggling Minerva to a seat in the back. She and James were the only ones who had real seats. The rest of us sat in the straw.

“G’long!” shouted Mr. Goodman, and the oxen started.

“Isn’t this fun?” said Cherry, wriggling her shoulders with delight.

“Fine, and after three hours of it walking will be even more fun,” said Tom.

“Oh, I’ve forgotten the lunch,” said Ethel.

“Now, look here,” said Tom, “we mustn’t stop this procession. Give me the key, Philip, and I’ll go back after the lunch and—”

“Whoa,” shouted Mr. Goodman.

“Don’t stop,” cried Tom. “I’ve only got to go back to the house. I’ll catch up. Keep ’em going.”

“Whoohaw, gee a little,” shouted Goodman, snapping his long whip and the oxen kept up their sleepy pace, while Tom ran back to the house to get the lunch.

“Isn’t this lovely?” said Cherry. “Whenever we get tired of riding we can walk on ahead and wait for the team to catch up. Why haven’t we ever done this before?”

“Because it would be something of a task to get six pair of cattle on any day except fair day,” I explained. “And, by the way, this costs us nothing. Goodman is honoured at having us come. Said so—in other words. Was insulted when I spoke of payment.”

“I’m learning something new about the country people all the time,” said Cherry.

“Goodman sells cheeses. He doesn’t rent cattle. If we had wanted a cheese it would have cost us market prices, but a ride after the Egerton string honours him and Egerton. That’s the Yankee of it.”

“Isn’t it glorious? Where is Mr. Warden? He’ll surely get left.”

Just then an automobile going to the fair came up behind us and passed us tooting the loudest horn I ever heard.

The cattle were not broken to automobiles and the leaders started to run, their example was followed all along the line, and in a minute (and to the secret gratification of Goodman, who had not liked Tom’s cavalier way of going back as if we were stationary) the six pair of cattle were running away.

The wagon bumped and pitched and we were pitched and bumped amid shrieks from Minerva and laughter from the rest.

“Whoo! Whoo, I say! Gee—haw! Whoo! WHOA! WHOA-UP!”

We had reached the brow of a little hill, at the base of which a pretty brook meanders across the road, and the frightened animals plunged down the hill regardless of their reputation for slowness.

As we left the brow of the hill we saw at the house Tom waving the lunch basket and calling to us to stop. He thought it was a trick, but we knew it wasn’t.

We beckoned him to come and then we gripped the sides of the wagon and wondered just how it would end.

At the side of the bridge the road led into a by path to the water and the wise Goodman, fearing that we would not keep the bridge at the rate we were going gee-ed them into the by path.

Whether the water had a cooling effect on them or what was the reason, I cannot say, but just as the wagon was in mid stream the forward oxen stopped, their example was passed down the line as it is on a freight train, and the series of jolts was finally communicated to the wagon and James and Minerva turned back summersaults into the water.

We all choked with laughter when they emerged, dripping.

“Don’t like cow ridin’,” said Minerva, shaking mud and water from her hat.

They were not hurt and by the advice of Ethel, Minerva went back to the house to get dry clothing. James waited to show her a short cut across the fields, so that we need not wait, and Tom came up with the lunch basket just as the cavalcade started again.

“Sorry I didn’t bring a wheel along,” said Tom. “If we find we’ve forgotten anything else it’ll be hard catching up. There’s quite some go in those beasts.”

“Them pesky devil wagons,” said Goodman. “I wish there was a law agin’ them.”

It is not my intention to tell of all the things that happened on the way. The oxen got accustomed to automobiles long before we reached Oakham and our progress became slower and slower as we had to take to the side of the road to let pass us the constantly thickening stream of vehicles of all kinds from every part of the county bound for the fair. Arrived at the grounds, wherever pretty Cherry went the boys were sure to go, while we elders went off by ourselves.

Ethel and I had hardly had a minute together since our guests had begun coming, but Ethel seemed to have thrived on the extra work and the added excitement. Of course it was the unlimited fresh air that had made it possible. We looked back on a very happy summer and were glad that everything had happened as it had.

“I wonder if Cherry has made up her mind yet,” said Ethel, while we were watching the efforts of a man to hit a darkey’s head with a base ball.

“She’ll have to make it up quickly unless she wants Hepburn and Sibthorp to possess their souls in patience during the fall.”

“And whichever of the two she takes there will be two disappointed men.”

“What, Billy?”

“Yes, I think, after all, he is hard hit.”

“And she treats him with amusing indifference. There they all go to have their tin-types takes. What children they are!”

It may have been a half hour later that Ethel and I were watching the energetic seller of whips.

Starting with one whip, which he offered for a dollar, and getting no takers at that price (for most of them had seen his operations before) he would offer two and then three and then four and at last half a dozen whips for the same dollar.

“An’ I’ll throw in this raw-hide just to make the game excitin’. Here, by George, I’m ashamed of myself to be such a poor business man as to give away fifteen dollars’ worth of whips for the price of one decent one, but I’m bound to make a sale if I give you my whole stock for a dollar. He-ere we have a bobby dasher of a whip to tickle the flies to death in the pantry. I’ll chuck that in just for devilment and I hope you won’t tell none of your folks what a fool I be. That’s eight whips for one ordinary every day dollar. Why it’s a crime to take advantage of me in this way and git so much for so little.

“Thank you, sir, for relievin’ me of an embarrassin’ situation.”

This to a long-bearded man who handed up a dollar and got the eight whips, one of which would have cost a dollar in any harness store. But that is not the same as saying that it would have been worth a dollar.

“Now, here we are again. Here’s a whip for one dollar.”

Naturally the zest of the transaction had departed with the long-bearded farmer and most of the crowd went away. But new ones came up and minute by minute the whip man added whip after whip and soon the crowd was as dense as before and he strenuously showed the swishing qualities of each whip, fanning the air with vigor and filling that part of the fair grounds with his syren voice and his picturesque language.

“Oh, you’re here, are you,” said a voice at my side, and turning I saw Sibthorp.

“Hello, where’s Cherry?” said I.

“I wanted to speak to you. Let’s get away from that clatter.”

I believe that Ethel must have divined what he wanted to say, for she said,

“Take me over to the wagon. I want to see about getting lunch ready.”

We took her over to the wagon and on our way there corralled James and Minerva. Ethel had brought an oil stove for the making of coffee and the three began operations at once, while Sibthorp and I walked off to that part of the fair where the cattle tests were to be made later in the day.

I could see that whatever it was that Sibthorp wanted to say he was not going to find it easy to say it, for he made five or six false and utterly inconsequent starts and seemed ill at ease.

“Say, Ellery, you didn’t get me off here to tell me that you never saw such long horns on an ox. What do you care about oxen?”

“No, that’s so—er—say, Phil, the fact is, I believe that I am—that I think a good deal—”

“That you are in love with Cherry?”

“Why, how did you know it?” said Ellery, with a sigh of relief.

“Oh, when you’ve been through the mill yourself you’re always able to tell the symptoms. Now what can I do for you? Do you want me to propose?”

“No, no-o, but I want to know whether you think I’d stand any sort of show.”

“Why, my dear boy,” said I. “Aren’t you as good as anybody else on earth? Have you totally misconceived Emerson’s message? Go in and win. Cherry’s a good girl—as good as anybody in the world. You’re a good chap—good as anybody on earth. Tell her your life story, and then come to me for my congratulations.”

“Well, but do you think I stand any show?”

“You’re the best judge of that, old man. She’s been very kind to you. I’d feel encouraged if I were you. But do it to-day, and do it soon. There are several Richmonds in the field.”

“That’s what I was afraid of. Jack and the rest.”

“Jack, nothing. The only man you have need to fear is that genial millionaire, Hepburn.”

“Oh, I’m not afraid of him. Cherry doesn’t believe in marrying for money.”

“How do you know?”

“Oh, we talked it over academically, you know.”

“Well, sometimes a woman forgets to be academic when it comes to the test. I think you’d better engage her in talk, old man, and do it to-day. Remember we all go down to-morrow.”

“Thanks, awfully, old man. You’ve heartened me up considerably.”

We had walked as we talked over to the wheel of fortune, and just as we arrived there a young man was so remarkably lucky as to win a hundred dollars. He was a very lucky young man, because earlier in the day I had passed by there with Ethel and had stopped a minute and he had then won fifty dollars. I like to see such happiness as was his. I have never seen it anywhere else, but on the stage. He put the money in his pocket and started away from the wheel and the gentleman who was running the wheel asked him in honey tones if he wouldn’t stay and try his luck again.

“No, sir,” said the upright young man. “I never did anything of this kind before to-day, and I’m going to stop now.”

“I wish I had your strength of character,” said the owner of the wheel, who seemed to be a very straightforward sort of person, even if he was limited in his phraseology. I recalled that he had said exactly the same words to the same young man when he had won the fifty dollars in the morning, and had signified his intention of stopping for good.

“Hello, there’s Cherry, now,” said Sibthorp, and looking up I saw her going by in company with Tom and his wife. Sibthorp joined the trio and he and Cherry fell behind and a minute later I saw them stop at the gate of the merry-go-round. For, of course, a modern country fair would not be the real thing if it did not have one of the gaudily grotesque nerve rackers.

Wishing the boy luck, I wandered off alone and soon fell in with Hepburn.

“Hello, Mr. Vernon,” said he. “Have you seen anything of Miss Paxton?”

“Yes, she and Sibthorp went off together not a minute ago.”

“Oh, that’s all right then. I was afraid she had gone off with Billy.”

The young men had one evening drunk “Bruderschaft” and all called each other by their first names.

“Why are you afraid of Billy?” said I.

Hepburn colored, an unusual thing for him to do, as he generally had easy command of himself. He looked me straight in the eye and then he said,

“I’m hard hit, governor.”

“Does you credit,” said I.

“Yeah,” said he, pulling at his under lip. “But you know it’s deuced hard for a fellow like me to say anything. All that cursed money of mine, you know. I’ve never been taken for what I am myself until I came up here, and when it comes to telling Miss Paxton how things stand with me, don’t you know—why, I wouldn’t blame her if she refused me, even if she loved me, because a girl like that doesn’t like to be thought—doesn’t like to be thought to be influenced by the money a fellow has.”

“Well, she wouldn’t be.”

“No, that isn’t the point. She wouldn’t be, but she might be afraid that the world would think she was.”

We were walking back and forth along the “Midway,” and we had now come to the wheel of fortune and subconsciously I felt impelled to stop and look in at the operations which had just started up with the placing of a dollar by a raw-boned fellow fresh from the plough.

“You mean to say,” said I, “that if you were in the position of Sibthorp, for instance, that you would feel you had a good chance of winning her?”

“I don’t think Sibthorp has any chance with her. I mean that if I was ordinarily well off I would go in and ask her, and I think she’d have me. I’d tell you what I wouldn’t say to any one else up here, for I think you understand those things. I’m not conceited but—well, a fellow knows.”

“Lost it, young man,” said the man at the wheel, “but next time you may have better luck. You want to try?”

“Why, I believe I will.”

Interested as I was in Hepburn’s revelations of soul, I looked up and saw the young man who had been so lucky twice before. He had plainly forgotten that he had ever seen the wheel—so treacherous are some memories—and pulling out of his pocket a dollar bill and a cent—all he had, evidently—he placed the dollar on “25,” which with great ingenuousness he said was his age, and the wheel spun round.

“I’m afraid you’re going to lose it, young man,” said the gamester. “It’s a hundred dollars if it stops at your figure. She comes nearer, she passes, she comes round again—she goes slower—she pas—no, she touches it. I congratulate you, young man. I lose, but you gain and I like to see a man win when he’s young and out for fun.”

“By George,” said the young man, ecstatically happy. “I never played one of the blamed things before. A hundred dollars?”

“Yes, a hundred dollars. Suppose you try it again.”

A dense crowd was now around the wheel and all eyes were fixed on the poor young man, who had so suddenly won a pocket of money—and that for the third time that day—although I was the only one who remembered that fact.

His hand sought his pocket—and then he remembered that a dollar and a cent had been all he had had—there—and he shook his head and said,

“No, sir. I’ve struck ile and I’m go’n’ to quit.”

“By George, I like your strength of character. Who else will take the young man’s chance? Only a dollar a try.”

The dollars rained down. The wheel went round and a score of anxious eyes blazed at the board. But every man lost his dollar and the young man who had been so strangely lucky and so curiously forgetful of his former luck, walked away, followed by Hepburn, who had been in a brown study, and me.

“There’s only one man seems to win in those games of chance,” said I.

“Some men are born lucky,” said Hepburn, and straightened unconsciously as he said it.