I surely must be on the road to becoming somebody, with all these famous
people taking such an interest in me. I remembered Emerson's dictum
about waiting in one's own doorway long enough, and all the world would
come by.
Was I to be disappointed? It did not seem credible that the great man
would make a special stop-off on his way to the coast, just to pay me a
visit.
One after another the passengers stepped down and walked and rode away.
Then a little, boyish-looking man ... smooth-faced, bright-complexioned,
jumped down, wavered toward me, dropping his baggage ... extended his
hand ... both hands ... smiling with his eyes, that possessed long
lashes like a girl's.
"Are you Johnnie Gregory?"
"Penton Baxter?" I asked reverently. He smiled in response and drew my
arm through his.
"This is great, this is certainly great," he remarked, in a high voice,
"and I'm more than glad that I stopped off to see you."
He expanded in the sun of my youthful hero-worship.
"Where's the best hotel in town?"
"The Bellman House ... but I've arranged with the Sig-Kappas to put you
up."
"Are you a fraternity man?"
"No--a barb."
"I'd rather go to the hotel you named ... but thank the boys for me."
I contended with Penton Baxter for the privilege of carrying his two
grips. They were so heavy that they dragged my shoulders down, but, with
an effort, I threw my chest out, and walked, straight and proud, beside
him.
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