Nearer, I observed
a refreshment pavilion and a dancing platform.
Reaching the gate, Cousin Egbert paid for us an entrance fee of two
shillings to a young lady in gypsy costume whom he greeted cordially
as Beryl Mae, not omitting to present me to her as Colonel Ruggles.
We moved into the thick of the crowd. There was much laughter and
hearty speech, and it at once occurred to me that Cousin Egbert had
been right: it would not be an assemblage of people that mattered, but
rather of small tradesmen, artisans, tenant-farmers and the like with
whom I could properly mingle.
My companion was greeted by several of the throng, to whom he in turn
presented me, among them after a bit to a slight, reddish-bearded
person wearing thick nose-glasses whom I understood to be the pressman
we were in search of. Nervous of manner he was and preoccupied with a
notebook in which he frantically scribbled items from time to time.
Yet no sooner was I presented to him than he began a quizzing sort of
conversation with me that lasted near a half-hour, I should say. Very
interested he seemed to hear of my previous life, having in full
measure that naive curiosity about one which Americans take so little
pains to hide. Like the other natives I had met that evening, he was
especially concerned to know what I thought of Red Gap.
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