"Don't say a word, Mr. Bangs," he called, cheerily, as the car began
to move. "Anybody's liable to forget. Do it myself sometimes. Well, so
long. Hope to see you again one of these days. Good-night."
The flivver moved rapidly away, gaining speed as it rushed for the
hill. Galusha Bangs watched its tail-light soar and dwindle until it
disappeared over the crest. Then, with a weary sigh, he picked up the
heavy suitcase, plodded across the road and on until he reached the step
and platform of Erastus Beebe's "General and Variety Store." There was
a kerosene lamp burning dimly upon the counter within, but the door was
locked. He pounded on the door and shook it, but no one answered. Then,
remembering Mr. Pulcifer's instructions, he entered the yard behind the
store, found the door of Mr. Beebe's house and knocked upon that. There
was not even a light in the house. The Beebes had gone--as most of
East Wellmouth had gone--to the baked beans and brown-bread supper and
sociable at the church. Galusha Bangs was not aware of this, of course.
What he was aware of--painfully, distressingly aware--was the fact
that he was alone and supperless, very, very weak and tired, and almost
discouraged.
However, there was no use in standing in the wet grass of the Beebe yard
and giving way to his discouragement. Galusha Bangs was a plucky little
soul, although just now a weak and long-suffering one.
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