The traveling man leaned over the counter and tapped with his finger on Ebenezer’s breast.  “It’s an opportunity and I want you to take it,” he urged.  “A friend of mine told me about you.  ’See that man Cowley,’ he said.  ‘He’s a live one.’”

The traveling man paused and waited.  Taking a book from his pocket he began writing out the order.  Still holding the shoe in his hand Elmer Cowley went through the store, past the two absorbed men, to a glass showcase near the front door.  He took a cheap revolver from the case and began to wave it about.  “You get out of here!” he shrieked.  “We don’t want any collar fasteners here.”  An idea came to him.  “Mind, I’m not making any threat,” he added.  “I don’t say I’ll shoot.  Maybe I just took this gun out of the case to look at it.  But you better get out.  Yes sir, I’ll say that.  You better grab up your things and get out.”

The young storekeeper’s voice rose to a scream and going behind the counter he began to advance upon the two men.  “We’re through being fools here!” he cried.  “We ain’t going to buy any more stuff until we begin to sell.  We ain’t going to keep on being queer and have folks staring and listening.  You get out of here!”

The traveling man left.  Raking the samples of collar fasteners off the counter into a black leather bag, he ran.  He was a small man and very bow-legged and he ran awkwardly.  The black bag caught against the door and he stumbled and fell.  “Crazy, that’s what he is—­crazy!” he sputtered as he arose from the sidewalk and hurried away.

In the store Elmer Cowley and his father stared at each other.  Now that the immediate object of his wrath had fled, the younger man was embarrassed.  “Well, I meant it.  I think we’ve been queer long enough,” he declared, going to the showcase and replacing the revolver.  Sitting on a barrel he pulled on and fastened the shoe he had been holding in his hand.  He was waiting for some word of understanding from his father but when Ebenezer spoke his words only served to reawaken the wrath in the son and the young man ran out of the store without replying.  Scratching his grey beard with his long dirty fingers, the merchant looked at his son with the same wavering uncertain stare with which he had confronted the traveling man.  “I’ll be starched,” he said softly.  “Well, well, I’ll be washed and ironed and starched!”

Elmer Cowley went out of Winesburg and along a country road that paralleled the railroad track.  He did not know where he was going or what he was going to do.  In the shelter of a deep cut where the road, after turning sharply to the right, dipped under the tracks he stopped and the passion that had been the cause of his outburst in the store began to again find expression.  “I will not be queer—­one to be looked at and listened to,” he declared aloud.  “I’ll be like other people.  I’ll show that George Willard.  He’ll find out.  I’ll show him!”