As Westerfelt went down to the stable after breakfast he saw wagons,
hacks, and old-fashioned carriages standing at nearly every gate on the
street. Washburn and a colored boy, Jake, were at the stable busy
washing and oiling the wheels of vehicles and currying horses.
"I wus jest about to send up to you," was Washburn's greeting.
"Turnouts are at a premium to-day. I didn't know whether to let out
yore own hoss an' buggy or not; two or three fellers that want to take
the'r girls are offerin' any price fer some'n to ride in."
"I am going myself."
"Hossback ur buggy?"
"Buggy." Westerfelt turned suddenly and walked back towards the hotel.
He had decided to invite Harriet Floyd to go to camp-meeting with him,
let the consequences be what they might. He wanted to see her, and
nothing should prevent it--not even Mrs. Dawson's presence in the
village nor her threats.
As Westerfelt walked away Washburn said to himself; "It u'd be tough on
'im ef Bascom Bates is ahead of 'im, after all his hangin' back. By
George! I can't imagine who else Bates could 'a' intended to ask; he's
give up goin' to Hansard's.
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