Hoarse expressions of incredulity, of execration, of disgust, came from the crowd as it raised glasses once more.  The Colonel glared down the sloppy length of the bar, then gazed aloft into the smoky heights.  The crowd waited for him to say something.

“This is a beautiful day, gentlemen.  A fine, balmy spring day.  Let us be out and away to mossy dells.  Why stay in this low drinking-place when all Nature beckons?  Come on back to Hoffmuller’s.  Besides,”—­he cast a reproachful look at the bar-tender,—­“the hospitality of this place is not what an upright citizen of this great republic has a right to expect when he’s throwing his good money right and left.”

He marched out in hurt dignity, followed by his train, many of whom, in loyalty to their host, sneered openly at the bar-tender as they passed.

Outside the Colonel poised himself in gala attitude, and benignantly surveyed our quiet little Main Street in both directions.  Across the way in the door of the First National Bank stood Asa Bundy, a look of interest on his face.

The Colonel’s sweeping glance halted upon Bundy.  With a glad cry he started across to him, but Bundy, beholding the move, fled actively inside.  The Colonel reached the door of the bank and tried the knob, but the key had been turned in the lock, and the next moment the curtains of the door were swiftly drawn.  “Bank Closed” was printed upon them in large gold letters.

Potts stepped aside to look into the window, and the curtain of that descended relentlessly.  The bank had suddenly taken on an aspect of Sabbath blankness.  Once more the Colonel rattled the knob, then he turned to his gathering followers.

“Gentlemen, I came here to press the hand of one of Nature’s noblemen, my tried friend, the Honorable Asa Bundy, whom we have just seen retreating to his precincts, as I might say, with a modesty that is rarely beautiful.  But no matter.”  Here the Colonel mounted the top step and glowed out upon his faithful and ever enlarging band.

“Instead, my friends, allow me to read you this splendid tribute from Bundy, and I trust that after this I shall never hear one of you utter a word in his disparagement.”

Rapidly fluttering the packet of letters, he drew out one bearing the imprint of the First National Bank of Little Arcady.  The crowd, pressing closer, was cheerfully animated.  From down the street on both sides anxious looks were bent upon the scene by many of our leading citizens.

“‘To Whom it May Concern,’” began the Colonel, in a voice that carried to the confines of our business centre; “’The determination of our esteemed citizen, Colonel J. Rodney Potts, to remove from our town makes it fitting that I record my high appreciation of his character as a man and his unusual attainments as a lawyer.  His going will be a grievous loss to our community, atoned for only by the knowledge that he will better himself in a field of richer opportunities.  He has proved himself to possess in full measure those qualities which go to the making of the best American citizenship, and these, as exercised in our behalf during his all too-short sojourn among us, entitle him to be cordially commended as worthy of all trust in any position to which he may aspire.  Very sincerely, A. Bundy, President.’”