THE TOWN-MEETING 41 



fear of personal injury. About a mile out of 

 Doaktown on the road to Caine River was a little 

 hill. Bravely Bucephalus tackled it, stopping not 

 more than twice each rod to give his passengers 

 time to drink in the beauties of the scenery. It was 

 during this period of hill-climbing, with its attend- 

 ant spaces of quiet, that George began his wary 

 approach towards getting acquainted with the 

 Preacher. 



George: " Where do you live? " 



Preacher : " Chicago." 



George: "What might your business be?" 



Preacher : " I'm a Preacher." 



Thereupon George's lower jaw dropped until it 

 almost seemed to rest upon the dashboard, while he 

 rolled a skeptical eye towards his seat-mate. 

 Being convinced after prolonged scrutiny that the 

 truth had been told, he relapsed into silence, broken 

 at last by the remark, " I'll bet you ain't a Baptist 

 Preacher." 



When his bet was promptly taken, he brought 

 the interview to a close by saying, " You must git 

 a mighty sight more pay than our preacher or 

 you'd never got so far from home." 



For some time as Bucephalus jogged along 

 through the woods George was evidently depressed. 

 He may have been reflecting upon certain emphatic 

 remarks addressed to Bucephalus earlier in the 

 journey, or, possibly, he was wondering how he 

 could sneak out of his job. It was evident that he 



